Tempting the Highlander (12 page)

“Well, we will leave you alone, but we are having a small welcoming celebration in the Lower Hall and you
will
stop whatever you are doing and attend.”

With a showy wave of his hand, he nodded in agreement.

“And I suggest you spend the afternoon packing, for the next month Raelynd and Meriel will be living on the second and third floors and you are to stay out of this tower.”

Conan’s jaw went immediately slack and his shoulders slightly slumped. “For them?!” he argued. “My brothers
are not
marrying the Schellden twins. I can promise you that. McTiernays only marry women who possess some degree of intelligence as well as a modicum of nerve.” He paused briefly to point at Meriel. “You, if memory serves, like to sew, and you,” he said, shifting his attention to Raelynd, “like to order people around and pretend you are all grown up. No way in hell a brother of mine is going to marry either one of you!”

Fury enveloped Raelynd. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to get him to retract his words, but nothing came out. Meriel, however, was not so easily silenced. “Well, at least I’m not an ass.”

The unusually harsh words of her sweet-natured sister had no effect, but it occurred to Raelynd just what might with such an impossible personality. The same tactics Laurel had used on her. “Oh, but we
are
marrying your brothers,” she cooed. “Ask anyone. Ask Conor and he will tell you that in one little month, I will be your
sister
. Other than Laurel, we will be your closest female relatives and no doubt we will be seeing each other often.”

Raelynd smiled as she saw the blood drain out of Conan’s face.

Laurel, deciding that enough groundwork had been laid, suggested, “I think it is time for you to return to your rooms and prepare for the night.” Just after she closed the door to Conan’s study, she added, “I will send someone up shortly with a bath for you both to share and to remove Craig’s weapons. I will try to come back and see you again before dinner, but Conor and I have some unfinished business to discuss, so it may be the evening meal when we meet again. Which reminds me, dinner will begin promptly at sundown in the Lower Hall. Do not be late.”

Laurel then turned and vanished as she went down the winding staircase, leaving both Raelynd and Meriel standing there alone.

Meriel let go a long sigh. “I guess we have to return to our rooms and unpack,” she said miserably.

Raelynd reached out and grabbed Meriel’s arm. “We might not be able to share a room, but remember how we used to switch places when mother tried to teach me how to weave?” Meriel nodded. “I think you should stay in Craig’s room with all the light, and I should take Crevan’s.”

Meriel’s head began to bob excitedly up and down. “We
are
identical,” she whispered.

Relieved, Laurel softly let go a long breath she had been holding and continued down the staircase to exit the tower. She had no idea whose brilliant idea it was to pair up Meriel with Crevan and Raelynd with Craig, but their coupling had been based on obvious personality traits, not on the person beneath.

Thank the Lord, there was not going to be a real wedding. Otherwise, the situation would be a colossal mess.

Chapter 8

Though the castle was not yet in sight, Cyric knew that at any moment Caireoch would come into view. Both his guides had noticeably perked up, unable to hide their joy at the thought of ending their escort duty. Cyric was well aware that both of them blamed him for the journey taking so long, but he did not care. Such extended and arduous travel was new to him. Delays should have been expected.

“Do you intend to stay for any length of time after we arrive?” Cyric asked.

“None,” came the short reply.

Cyric was relieved. Both men belonged to a neighboring clan and since neither had intentions of staying, they would not be poisoning any Schellden clansmen against him. This left him the ability to start anew, gaining respect and assuming the role of chieftain.

Cyric had started outlining ideas for achieving both goals when a large stone castle appeared in the distance. Soon he would be inside Caireoch’s walls, being warmly welcomed by all who met him. Myriad questions began to swirl in Cyric’s mind. Should he stay on his horse and ride in? Or should he get down and meet everyone face to face? Would Laird Schellden want to give him responsibilities immediately? If so, which ones should he assume first?

Cyric was almost giddy with excitement. His dreams and aspirations were finally coming to fruition. Too long had he yearned for a way to prove his worth to his father. Finally, he was going to have his chance.

As they rode closer, the size and makeup of the castle became clearer. Rather than a square shape with multiple towers, Caireoch had only two, both enormous. The gatehouse was also sizable, defended with a portcullis, a heavy gate, and most likely several murder holes. Together, the structures formed the shape of a triangular shield. Only the keep, which was attached to the gatehouse, was visible over the unusually tall curtain wall that connected the three anchors.

Predictably, the majority of the servants lived in cottages just outside the castle walls and not within. The small community was inhabited, but far from lively. Of the few people who were outside working, only a handful paused for a moment to look at him and his guides. Most of the clansmen and women were busy doing whatever had to be done before the end of the day.

Cyric had heard Highland women dressed differently, but he had not expected such a divergence between Lowland and Highland culture. In Ayr, Scottish women dressed like those of northern England, wearing bliauts, kirtles, or some kind of long, flowing gown. But from what he could see in the village, the women of his clan wore something far different. Their chemise served as a leine and gathered at the waist was the Schellden plaid. The bold material reached from the neck to the ankles, fastened with a leather belt and secured above the breast by a large brooch to form a loose shawl. By the various pockets created, the warm-looking garment looked serviceable, but bulky.

By the time they were at the gatehouse, Cyric had come to the conclusion that most everyone had to be inside, lined up, and waiting for his arrival. He was about to ask his guides to enter and announce him when, without a single farewell, they turned their horses and urged them into a gallop. Cyric would have to introduce himself.

Taking a deep breath, he sat for several seconds on his horse, alone in front of the massive gatehouse feeling more and more nervous. Once he went through that opening, his life would change. His uncle along with the steward, the top commanders, and whoever else was important would be there to welcome him, looking to him for guidance and approval.

Taking a deep breath, Cyric reminded himself that he had eaten and mingled with the top nobles in their kingdom, including Robert I, and urged his mount forward.

To Cyric’s surprise, the activity inside the castle walls and the people’s reaction to his appearance were no different than that of the village. The courtyard was larger than he had expected given the castle’s triangular shape. As he assumed, the keep on his left was adjacent to the gatehouse and along that same wall were several smaller buildings, one of which he could see from the smoke, was the kitchen. On his right were more storage buildings and the Great Hall, which he was glad to see was impressive in size. The chapel was nestled between the Hall, one of the towers anchoring the far curtain wall, which held the stables, and the smithies.

He stared for several minutes, sitting and waiting, but not a single person stopped to greet him or even asked who he was. Incredulously, it was almost as if they
had
been told of his arrival, and to ignore him! Coupled with the fact that his uncle had not appeared, Cyric was even more disconcerted. For days he had been visualizing just how his future father-in-law was going to receive him—with appreciation and admiration. Whatever the reason behind the hollow welcome, Cyric decided to at least get off his horse.

Feeling more like an intruder than the next Schellden chieftain, he urged his animal forward toward the stables. He handed the reins to the young dirty stable hand, who cocked his head and asked, “Just who are you?”

“I’m Cyric Schellden,” Cyric announced loudly, but still no one seemed to recognize the name. Not even the boy, who just shrugged his shoulders and waited for Cyric to unhook his bundle from the saddle before taking his horse inside.
Someday,
Cyric vowed to himself,
they will stop and acknowledge my presence and feel rewarded if I felt inclined to do the same
.

“Welcome to Caireoch.” The booming voice of his uncle startled Cyric but was also a welcome relief, because he had no idea what he had been going to do next.

Schellden patted the young man on the back. Cyric had the size, even the bulk, of a Highlander, but his amber eyes contained the panicked look of a teenager on his first hunt. “I hope you enjoy your visit. I am sorry that no one was here to welcome you, but I had to finish up a meeting with my commanders and wanted to be the first to greet you.” Schellden gestured toward the double doors of the Hall where several armed men were exiting. “Come. I am sure you are hungry and have many questions.”

Cyric followed for he did have several questions, but the nature of them had abruptly changed from what duties he was going to take over first to . . .
enjoy his visit?
Robert I had implied something far different. A visit did not include a wife and a lairdship to his own prestigious clan. Not once had he imagined Laird Schellden would not be of the same mind as his king. It suddenly occurred to Cyric that maybe coming here was not all he had believed it to be.

Schellden entered the hall and waved for Cyric to follow. “We actually expected you earlier.”

Cyric glanced around at the few remaining men who were gathering their things. It was not respect he saw, but accusation, as if they knew without even being there that he was the cause of the delay.

“There is no meat left, but there is plenty of bread and ale,” Schellden said before sitting down at the head of the table.

The way his uncle had arranged the room, there was no sharing of authority. Only one chair was at the table’s end, forcing Cyric to take one of the six perpendicular seats. He suspected he should be glad that he wasn’t being offered a bench, which served as the majority of the room’s seating.

Cyric pulled a piece of bread free from the large loaf and chewed the soft, tasty morsel before swallowing some ale, hoping that both would give him fortitude. His questions were numerous, but he decided to stay away from the confrontational ones for now. Maybe his uncle was just testing him.

“Where is everyone?”

Schellden picked up a mug and swirled the contents. “Most are in the fields. We held games here for several days. The horses from the race ruined some of the lands and crops so everyone is helping to clean up and restore things to order.”

The answer was complete, but Cyric still felt as if he were being censored, and he was not sure why.

“Would you like anything else while you and the laird talk?”

Cyric twisted around to see a pretty girl with dark auburn hair and unusually large brown eyes hold up a nearly empty platter that still held a few pieces of meat and cheese. “I would,” he answered. “Build me a plate of whatever meat is left and bring it to me.”

Her dark eyes sprang open wide and flashed to the laird. Her warm smile disappeared, and she gave Cyric a terse nod before she left to do his bidding.

Cyric, once again mystified, turned back toward his uncle. “I had hoped to meet my cousins this afternoon as well. But perhaps it is a good thing they are not here to greet me. I should bathe and prepare myself to make a good impression,” he quickly added, hoping diplomacy might lessen the perceived tension he felt.

Schellden leaned over, and keeping his face expressionless, said, “I am sure they would have liked to say hello, but unfortunately I doubt you will have the opportunity to meet them while you are here. Since their mother is dead and I did not remarry, both are at a neighboring clan preparing for their wedding.”

Cyric nearly choked on the piece of cheese he was eating. His mouth had instantly gone dry and he picked up the mug and began downing its contents. “Did you say
both
of my cousins are getting married?”

“Aye, in less than a month. I am fortunate that the men they have chosen are well known throughout these parts and belong to a nearby clan, enabling us to see each other often.”

“But . . . but . . .” Cyric sputtered as the few items his uncle had so far divulged sank into full meaning. King Robert might have led him to believe he would be the next Schellden laird, but his uncle obviously intended something quite different. “But the king told me that—”

Schellden cut him off as he stood up and scooted his chair back to make room for his departure. “Robert relayed to me that he wants to secure the future of this clan. My daughters are marrying able, strong men of whom I am sure the king will approve. The union will help eliminate the potential of clan rivalries and thereby protect the strength of the Highland armies.”

Cyric stared at the piece of bread still in his hand. All the discomfort, all the pain, the cold, the exclusion he had felt for the past several days had been for nothing. He had arrived too late. Once again, he had been appraised by an elder and judged to be a disappointment. This time, however, Cyric was not going to just meekly accept the decision.

“Since the king told you of his desire to secure this clan, he must have also relayed how he intended for it to happen. I journeyed this very long distance based upon those expectations. I had been told that
I
would be marrying one of your daughters and would become the next laird of this clan.”

Schellden was vaguely impressed and slightly disappointed. His nephew had spoken calmly but with a surprising amount of determination. Schellden had half expected, half hoped Cyric would whine and beg to be sent home, bringing an immediate end to this part of the plan. But, his nephew’s departure would only resolve one of his problems, not all of them.

“Raelynd and Meriel are to marry Craig and Crevan McTiernay.” Schellden paused, thankful to see by Cyric’s expression that his nephew was well aware of the enormous power that Highland clan held. “If you desire, we can ride over and you can fight them for your rights to marry one of my daughters. I would, however, not expect any support from the king or any of your kin. The McTiernays have too many loyal allies and the king’s intent is to stabilize the future of the Schellden clan, not destroy alliances.”

Cyric studied his unreadable uncle. After years of acting as a negotiator between some crafty and devious leaders, Cyric wondered if Laird Schellden might be playing him for the fool. But such a claim could easily be found false, so it had to be true. The heavy burden Cyric had been carrying suddenly became nearly intolerable as he realized his father’s respect, which he so desired, might never be within his reach.

Schellden walked around to the other side of the table, clearly intent on leaving. But he halted so that he was directly opposite Cyric and faced him. “You are the only male Schellden heir. I will not relinquish the safety and the future well-being of my people based on blood alone. But you are welcome to stay and prove to me that you are ready and able to lead your clansmen.”

Cyric rose to his feet and looked his uncle in the eye. “I accept. And if I do prove that I have the skills and the aptitude to rule this clan?”

Schellden scoffed. “First, you must learn only the king has the authority to rule. A laird does his best to manage and address his people’s needs.”

“I understand. I watched my grandfather perform for years as laird of my mother’s clan. I am sure I am ready and you will see that as well when you charge me with clan decision-making and—”

Hearing how Cyric intended to prove his worth, Schellden’s deadened face cracked into a large grin and he began to laugh, loudly. Trying to overcome his mirth, he turned to the pretty dark-haired servant and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “If you would get the steward to show my nephew where he is to stay when he is finished eating, I would appreciate it, my dear.” Then his uncle disappeared, leaving only Cyric and the woman, who had served him his plate of food, in the cavernous room.

“Why so glum?” she asked as he slumped back into the chair despondently.

“This was not how it was supposed to be,” Cyric muttered, resting his forehead in his hand.

“And how did you imagine Caireoch to be?”

“Busy, filled with people, ready and wanting to meet me.”
Ready to adore me, admire me, at the very least respect me,
he added silently to himself.

“There were more clansmen here to receive you yesterday, but you did not arrive and there is much to do,” she explained, sitting on the bench closest to him. “To survive in the Highlands all must do what we can. You will have to do the same if the laird is to determine you are fit to stay.”

“You don’t understand. I came here expecting to be welcomed . . . not put on
trial,
” Cyric moaned.

The woman stood up and Cyric dropped his hand from his forehead so that he could look at her. She was not a striking beauty, but her waist was thin and her full figure was just the kind that he desired when he sought out a woman. Her rich brown eyes were also kind and gentle despite his treatment of her, for she obviously was
not
a servant. He wasn’t sure what her relationship was to his uncle, but he was certain that the Schellden laird did not go around kissing just any young woman on the cheek.