Taming the Highlander

by May McGoldrick

  Innes was running the risk of drowning in those eyes. “I was forced to attend.”

  “So was I.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone forcing you to do anything against your will.”

  “Very well. I felt obligated.”

  “You mean Bryce asked, and you came.”

  “The same with you?”

  “Hardly. I screamed and fought, but Ailein wouldn’t hear it. She brought in a small army of servants, who bound and gagged me and dragged me down here. I only slipped my ropes at the door of the Great Hall, but by then it was too late.”

  There was a brief flash of white teeth again, and her heart beat faster in her chest.

  “Bound, you say.” He leaned closer and whispered. “I had no idea of how interesting your sister’s approach could be.”

  There was a delicious twist low in her belly. “I don’t recommend that you use her methods,” she told him, feeling bolder. “I have claws.”

  “I’d be willing to feel your claws, under the right circumstances.”

  Her cheeks caught fire, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. “Beware, Conall Sinclair. You’ll find my teeth are sharper than your wolf’s.”

  “I taught Thunder to kiss, rather than bite.”

  “He’s still barely more than a pup. I, on the other hand, am well past the age of instruction. You know what they say about teaching old dogs.”

  “Old? You? If you’re old, then Hell’s lake has iced over. And I could fly this castle to Jerusalem. You, old?” He snorted. “Hardly.”

  “Is this your idea of sweet talk?” She smiled. “I may swoon at any moment.”

  Bryce and Ailein were already seated at the table. Conall extended his arm for her to take. “So another challenge. I’ll show you sweet talk and look forward to seeing how strongly you resist my charm.”

  “Did you say ‘charm’?” She put a gloved hand on his arm. He looked down at it. “You underestimate my defenses.”

  “I find it interesting that you wear gloves at all times. Much like dressing in black. No doubt, they form a part of your armament.”

  Innes said nothing. He had no idea how close he was to the truth.

  As they neared the table, the exchange between Bryce and Ailein reached them.

  “Bueford is a fine name,” Ailein said.

  “For a horse, maybe,” Bryce retorted with a huff. “Nay, I wouldn’t even use it for a horse.”

  “Osnot?”

  “Osnot? By all that’s holy, what are you thinking? Would you condemn the lad to a life of mockery?”

  “You’re never satisfied with anything I say.” Ailein spread her hands in frustration. “Very well. What about Frang? You surely can’t object to Frang.”

  “Are we deciding on a name for our child or a gargoyle?”

  Innes and Conall exchanged a look as they arrived at the table.

  “I have the perfect name.” Ailein smiled. “Nevaeh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Heaven, said backwards.”

  “Heav . . . ?” Bryce slapped the table in obvious exasperation. “Woman, why don’t you just call him Hell, or Lucifer, or Thunder’s Arse?”

  “Are they really arguing over a name for their bairn?” Conall whispered in Innes’s ear as she sat.

  Innes knew her sister well enough to recognize that Ailein was attempting to act. But for what purpose? “I believe they are.”

  “Well, Thunder’s Arse won’t do,” he murmured. “I won’t have them naming their child after my wolf. It would be too confusing.”

  She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  He sat himself next to her, continuing to speak in a low voice to her alone. “I could be mistaken, but I always thought the birth of a child required a certain physical activity for the joyous event to take place.”

  “I believe you’re correct in that.”

  “Well, listening to them now, I’m not holding out much hope.”

  “But I am,” Innes replied, and turned to Wynda on her other side so she wouldn’t have to explain further.

  The feast is long over, the castle slumbers, and the morning breaks. I watch the bloodred dawn and remember.

  This is the day—so many years ago—that my love was taken from me. Aye, they took him from me. My own blood kin tracked us down, seized him in his own great hall, tore him from my arms, dragged him into the courtyard, and killed him.

  He was dead. Never to return to me. I was already carrying his bairn, but he was a good man and we would have married. I cried out, “Our love is true!” But the laird would hear none of that. He looked at me with blind rage. I thought he would kill me then, as well. How often have I wished he’d done it! How will I ever blot out the memory of those screams, of his life’s blood running down between the stones?

  I see him still. His beautiful face, now battered; his eyes that once looked at me with nothing but love, now lifeless and blank. Aye, all that was left of him, lying there in my lap, staining my apron and my hands and my cheek with his thickening blood.

  They looked on me with disgust, as if it was I who’d gone mad. I, who simply wanted to be with the man I loved. And later, when darkness fell and they stood around me—a circle of torchbearers afraid to come closer—I realized that the cries echoing in the Highland hills were my own.

  Chapter 9

  The path followed a meandering brook through green meadows dotted with sheep and red, shaggy cattle. Patches of forest broke up the regularity of the rocky moorland, and a warm sun shone down on gray stone farm cottages snuggled into low hillsides. Cresting a hill, the two women descended into a broad, flat area where in the distance Innes saw a dozen men cutting peat from a bog. The distinctive old-egg smell reached her long before they drew close. Children stacking the peat blocks to dry waved to them as they passed.

  Innes was glad she’d accepted Wynda’s invitation. Once a sennight the aunt delivered baskets of food to the sick and needy. The older woman was not a talker, but the occasional conversation between them came with a natural ease that Innes found as pleasurable as it was surprising.

  Each of them carried a large basket, and the first three cottages where they stopped received the supplies of bannock bread, meats, and dried fish with expressions of sincere gratitude.

  Wynda gestured to a large oak grove some distance ahead. “Our last delivery is there, just beyond the edge of the wood. My basket is empty. Do you want me to carry some of what’s left?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad you came. It’s very pleasant to have the company,” she said. “I brought Ailein along the last time. But today she seemed anxious for the return of her husband. Better that she does her pacing at Girnigoe than fret her day away wishing she were there.”

  Innes hadn’t seen Conall since the night of the dinner. The following morning he and Bryce rode out unexpectedly with a few men. She learned from her sister that a messenger had arrived, bringing them a summons to meet with other Highland leaders.

  “Do you expect your nephews back soon?” Innes asked Wynda.

  “No way of telling. I suppose it depends on the reason for the meeting. They didn’t tell me.”

  Innes was sorry she hadn’t gotten a chance to see Conall again. Something had happened to her during that dinner, and since then she barely slept at all, thinking of every word they exchanged. Lying there in the dark, night after night, she tried to attach meaning to every brush of his clothes and every glance or smile.

  In two more days, she’d be leaving Girnigoe. A feeling somewhat akin to sadness overtook her. But perhaps this was the break that she needed.

  She’d gone over the events of the dinner again and again. In the course of the evening, no one spoke of the wars or his past. No one asked any question that might evoke the memories of what he went through. No one wanted to risk upsetting him.

  Having the stretch of days and nights to think, Innes came to realize how foolish it was for her to entertain any dre
ams of a future that might include him. Conall was a wounded man, inside and out. Two times she touched him, and in each instance she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. He was a man who wanted to keep his past buried inside of him. Why would he want a woman who could see right into his soul?

  “I believe we will continue to see a lot more of that now that he has returned to us,” said Wynda. Innes looked at the older woman. “Conall being called away.”

  “Why?” Worry clutched at Innes’s heart. “Surely, they won’t expect him to fight again. He’s sacrificed so much already.”

  “Not called to fight, but to serve as an advisor. To offer guidance and direction.”

  Innes was relieved. She remembered that Conall had been a close confidant to the late king.

  “And it’s a blessing that he’s no longer laird of Girnigoe,” Wynda continued. “He’ll have no time for that.”

  Her interest was piqued. “No time for what?”

  “He is still tending to his wounds, but I am sure it’s only matter of time before he’s summoned to court to serve as a member of the Regency Council,” Wynda said confidently. “He’s the earl of Caithness, the strongest peer in the north. As you say, he served the crown in war. Conall is greatly respected for his bravery and sound judgment. He’s never been one to seek power or profit for himself. Who is more qualified to serve Scotland?”

  It pleased Innes to think that a rewarding future awaited the earl if he chose to consider it.

  The smell of smoke from a small fire drew both women’s attention. She and Wynda passed an outcropping of rocks, and a camp on the bank of the shallow stream came into view. Two young men were up to their knees in the water, a net spread between them to catch fish. A third lad tended the fire and watched the others.

  “These are not local boys, I’m sure,” Wynda whispered to Innes. “I don’t recognize them.”

  The one by the fire jumped to his feet and called to his fellows in the stream. The two dropped their net and waded out of water.

  “Good day to you lads,” Wynda called, pulling Innes along.

  “Oi, old woman, wait up there. Just a word, if you don’t mind.”

  Striding up the hill, he stepped in their path. The other two followed him.

  “We’ve got a sick family to see to,” Wynda told him. “You’ll need to step aside. Get back to your fishing.”

  The young man pulled his cap off and scratched his head. “Aye, that’s the problem, you see. My friends and me have been trying to coax a fish or two out of that stream, and have naught to show for our trouble.”

  Innes glanced behind him at the other two. They were young, she realized. But they definitely looked hungry, and she knew that hungry men of any age could be dangerous. She recalled Conall’s warning on the strand.

  Innes handed the basket to Wynda. She peeled off her gloves, tucking them into the sash at her belt.

  “If you’re tired of fishing, not far along this path you’ll find men cutting peat,” Wynda said. “Go and tell them you’ll work the rest of the day for a meal and a roof over your head for the night.”

  “And why would they do that for three strangers, I’d like to know?” asked the lad.

  “Tell them the laird of Castle Girnigoe said so.”

  “And you speak for the laird, I suppose?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” Wynda said sternly. “So you’ll do well to let us pass.”

  “As a matter of fact, m’lady,” the young man said, sarcasm evident in every word, “we’d never forgive ourselves if we let you carry that heavy basket on your own. Would we, lads?”

  “This food is for a family with sick children,” Wynda said angrily. “It’s not for three able-bodied young men who can be earning their own bread.”

  “So it’s bread, is it?” The ruffian’s tone grew sharper as he motioned to one of the others. “Help the lady with that basket.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Wynda snapped.

  Innes took the basket back and put it at her feet, pushing the aunt behind. She faced the three of them.

  “The old crone has a protector,” he said mockingly. His gaze fell on the pouch at Innes’s waist. “I’m thinking there might be a coin or two in this one’s purse. Get that too.”

  “I have no coins to give you.”

  Innes watched the burliest of the young men as he approached. As he bent to retrieve the basket, Innes seized his wrist and he looked up in surprise. They were nearly eye to eye.

  “What would your family think of this? You stealing a sick child’s bread?”

  He hesitated, and that was enough for her.

  “Jock, you don’t want to do this,” she said quietly. “I know you. You and your brother and this other one live to the south, in the village by the falls. Your sister Makyn, she tends the sheep for the blind cotter. I know it’s been hard for you since your father went off to fight in the king’s war and never came back. But your mother is doing her best.”

  The lad tried to pull his hand free, but Innes held on.

  “Do you think it’s right that you and your brother left them to fend for themselves? And what happens when word gets back to your village that you harmed two women trying to steal bread? You don’t want to be shaming your own mother. You and your brother Finn are better lads than that, I know.”

  The surprise turned to wide-eyed panic. The burly young man wrenched his hand away as if she’d burned him. He staggered backward and spun to face the other men who stared, openmouthed.

  The leader was the first to bolt down the hill. The other two soon followed on his heels.

  Innes waited until the three of them were over a low hill before she let out a nervous sigh.

  “Did you know him?” asked Wynda.

  Innes broke into a cold sweat, realizing what she’d done. What choice did she have? She’d acted without thinking. She had no way of protecting them. Innes pulled on her gloves before turning. Wynda was waiting for an answer.

  She couldn’t lie. “I didn’t know him.”

  Wynda stared at Innes’s gloved fingers.

  “I have a gift. One that my mother had before me.” The words spilled out. “I can touch a person’s hand and read their mind, see their past. This is the reason for wearing the gloves.”

  Wynda’s face paled. Innes reached out to steady her for fear of the older woman falling. “It’s not witchcraft,” she quickly explained. “There is a relic. One that has been in our family for many years. It’s completely innocent. Harmless. You saw the extent of its power.”

  “Does Ailein have this ‘gift’ as well?”

  Innes shook her head. “She doesn’t have it. Only I do.”

  Wynda clutched at her arm, wanting the support. Innes understood how difficult it must be to accept what she just witnessed. The two stood in silence for some time.

  “No one knows of my gift except Ailein and my father,” said Innes. “I wear the gloves because I have no wish to intrude on people’s lives or their past. Many could judge such an intrusion harshly, and I—”

  “You don’t need to explain more.” The older woman nodded and caressed Innes’s arm gently before pulling away. “Your secret is safe with me. We’ll tell no one what happened here today.”

  Wynda drew the shawl around her and bent to pick up the basket. Innes lifted it first, relieved.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much—”

  The sound of hoofbeats drew their attention. Four riders appeared on a far hill. Even at a distance, Innes recognized Conall’s black mane flying in the breeze.

  Her heart leaped in her chest and a jumbled rush of emotions nearly brought tears to her eyes. The upset of what they’d just gone through with those young men, the revelation of her gift, and the longing that she was feeling now churned her insides.

  Thunder provided the distraction she needed. His nose lifted and the wolf came racing across the moor toward Innes and Wynda. The riders immediately changed direction and approached, b
ut Thunder was happily jumping at Innes long before the men reached them.

  “Good day to you, too,” she said, petting him. “Aye, pup. I’m glad to see you, too.”

  Conall rode past the fire, glancing at it before dismounting. Bryce’s boots hit the ground a moment later.

  “Cooking dinner, Aunt?” the younger man asked, smiling.

  Conall looked at Innes and she had eyes only for him. Her gaze took in the boots and the kilt, the wide chest and the face that she already found extremely handsome, regardless of the scars and the beard.

  “I didn’t expect to find you out here,” the earl commented.

  “Innes has been helping me deliver the baskets,” Wynda answered. “We’ve one more family to visit.”

  Conall glanced at the forest. “The woodcutter’s child. Still sick, is he?”

  “Mending, I believe,” the aunt replied. “Well, was the meeting as urgent as they said?”

  “It was good that we went,” Bryce said.

  “Why?” Wynda asked. “What’s happened?”

  “The English attacked. They sailed up the coast, landed at Leith, and went on a rampage.”

  Innes turned to Conall. His face was grave. Would there never be an end to this, she thought? Must people continue to suffer because of these incessant wars?

  Conall spoke up. “Our defenses at Leith were smashed and the raiders swept into Edinburgh town. The castle held. The gunners fired straight down the Royal Mile, but that was the best we could do, they tell us. The English took what they wanted and destroyed the rest.”

  Leaving more lives shattered, she thought.

  “The English burned the town and the palace and abbey at Holyroodhouse,” Conall continued. “And dozens of villages, churches and all. When they left, they even took two of the crown’s ships. Just loaded them with looted goods and sailed south.”

  “And it isn’t over,” Bryce added. “They have a new butcher tearing up the south. A devil named Evers has come up from the Borders. They say some renegade Scots have joined his army.”

  “I know this man,” Conall told them. “Sir Ralph Evers. He calls himself the Scourge of the Borders and revels in the title. He’s the English commander in the north and holds other positions courtesy of his king. He sees all Scots as vermin and believes it is his duty to flush us out and kill us wherever he can.”