Seducing the Highlander (24 page)

Craig rose from his chair and left the Great Hall, fully intending to join whatever conversation Meriel was having, regardless of whom she was having it with.

But the courtyard was empty. And so were the North Tower, the kitchens, the stable, and everywhere he could think she might have gone at night before retiring.

Craig awoke the next morning intending to recommence his search for Meriel but had not been able to take two steps into the courtyard before Fallon saw him and redirected him from the North Tower to the Lower Hall. In truth, he had had to handle very few crises since his brother had gone, especially for a clan the size of the McTiernays. But the few that did crop up always seemed to do so when Craig had plans to do things other than manage clan affairs.

Hoping it was a disgruntled farmer and not an irate housekeeper, upset that he had allowed too many castle servants leave from their duties, Craig was stunned to see a weeping Wyenda slumped over one of the trestle tables in the Lower Hall. Craig’s face twisted into a quizzical expression that conveyed his confusion about just what the steward expected.

Fallon, shorter than most Highlanders but with a forceful presence, crossed his arms and looked up so that he could stare Craig in the eye. “The men will be arriving soon and she, well, she just cannot be here!”

“
I know that
,” Craig hissed in frustration. He also knew that the soldiers were not due to arrive for the noon meal for several hours yet, so the urgency in Fallon’s tone was more from frustration than immediate concern. Still, the idea of a woman choosing the Lower Hall as a place to cry was unfathomable. “Why is she here?”

Fallon threw his hands up in the air. No one ever defied him—well, practically no one. Laird and Lady McTiernay had the right, so that could be overlooked, but a simple clanswoman? It was unheard of, and Fallon’s frustration at being unable to intimidate Wyenda into compliance was growing with each passing moment.

“I came in to conduct some business privately and found her as she is. This . . . this . . .
gonag
has since refused to move or respond to my inquiries!” Fallon huffed, and was only slightly mollified that his final insult had gotten a reaction. Wyenda raised her tear-streaked face and glared at the old man for calling her
miserable
before letting out a soft wail and dropping her head back into the crook of her arm to cry some more.

Craig raked his hand through his hair. Crying women! Worse, it had to be Wyenda. How was this
his
responsibility? He tried to imagine Conor dealing with such a situation and he knew immediately what his brother would do. He would quickly extricate himself from the affair and make his wife handle it. “Why didn’t you seek out Laurel’s assistance?
She
should have been told, not me.”

“Lady McTiernay left early this morning to deal with clan issues outside of the castle walls,” Fallon answered tersely, as if it should have been obvious why that option had not already been applied. Seeing Craig open his mouth to respond, the steward quickly added, “And Lady Meriel is currently engaged in her room and . . . well, she is very much unavailable.”

Craig stiffened upon hearing this news. The idea that private meetings between her and Hamish had not ceased, as he had thought, but were continuing in her bedchambers sent a shiver of alarm and anger rippling up his spine. The only thing that kept him from turning abruptly and marching up to the North Tower was the steward’s seeming unconcern that something improper might be taking place. Still, the words “very much unavailable” had been carefully chosen, and Craig’s new and immediate priority was to pay a visit to Meriel. But he had to deal with Wyenda first.

Craig toyed with the idea of tossing the meddlesome creature over his shoulder and physically forcing her from the room, but decided to save that as a last resort. Taking a deep breath, he stepped as close as he dared to the crying
aigeantach
. “Wyenda, stop this and tell me just why you are in here . . . and so upset.”

Her head snapped up. “Don’t pretend to care about my sorrows.”

“
Mo creach!
” Craig snapped, doing nothing to hide his exasperation. “You obviously want someone to care, otherwise you would have found a more private place to carry on.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Fallon’s jaw drop in shock. Part of Craig wanted to shout at the old man that while he did not particularly enjoy playing the role of laird, he was not incapable of doing so. And when it came to Wyenda, he had learned the hard way that she did nothing—
nothing—
without a calculated reason. “So answer me. Why are you here, and just what do you want?”

Wyenda rose to her feet. “I want absolutely
nothing
from you McTiernays. I have never wanted anything. It was forced upon me as my only option, and every attempt I have ever made to remove myself from these circumstances and return to a life I deserve, is intentionally thwarted. So I ask you, if you all dislike me so much, why do you work so hard to keep me here?”

Craig had no idea what Wyenda was talking about. If she wanted to leave, he suspected more than one man—including himself—would be happy to help her depart. “Nice speech, Wyenda, but you forget that I know you. So answer my question—
why are you here?
”

Wyenda’s large blue eyes glared at Craig. Her voluminous hair fell in waves around her. She stood up straight and he could see the exquisite figure that had at one time caught his eye. Knowing the person the body housed, Craig wondered how he could ever have been attracted to such a creature. “As if you do not know that I have nowhere else to go,” she wailed. “My grandmother has evicted me from her home, and the one man I intended to marry has decided against me. Seems his friend, a Dougal Matheson, was invited to that awful dinner party and relayed a twisted version of what happened that night. I tried to explain to Iain that I had been tricked, but he made it quite clear that based on what he had heard from various
McTiernays
, no man of any consequence would ever seek my hand in marriage.”

Craig inhaled and crossed his arms. Wyenda had it wrong. He remembered Dougal Matheson being there that evening. Though Matheson lived just a few hours’ ride on the other side of the McTiernays’ northwest border, their clans were not close allies. Yet, they were friendly. Craig had spoken to Dougal only briefly before the dinner, and all of the conversation had centered on the tedious and lengthy visit of Dougal’s distant relative—Iain. So if Iain was the man Wyenda had been seeking to marry, she had no idea what kind of man he was. But those facts did not change her—and his—current situation. “So you are here for . . .”

Wyenda narrowed her gaze and said through tight lips, “I need a place to stay.”

Craig nearly choked. “Here? In the castle? I think not. We like our servants, and are not in the habit of making them endure self-absorbed women who enjoy hurting those around them.”

Wyenda’s head jerked and she was forced to take a step backward to regain her balance. She had overheard similar remarks but had attributed them to jealousy, as no one ever dared to say as much to her face. “Then where am I to go? You cannot refuse me!”

Craig shook his head. She truly did not see how she had brought the situation upon herself. How could she not see how her words and actions collectively had created her current situation? Was she truly unable to accept that her life had changed, that her continued pursuit of the past would only bring her unhappiness? Craig took a deep breath and it caught in his throat as a single thought came to his mind.
The same could be said of you
.

Craig flexed his hands, which had balled up into fists while folded across his chest. He could not find it in himself to forgive Wyenda for her treatment of people, especially Meriel, and yet he was not inclined to abandon the woman to the elements. “This situation is of your making, not mine, and therefore so shall the remedy be yours. While you may not like them, you do have choices. Return to your grandmother and grovel for forgiveness, pledging never to abuse her kindness again. And if by chance some fool is overtaken by your beauty and offers marriage, accept it and then make sure he never regrets the decision.”

Craig turned to leave when Wyenda shouted back, “That is only one option! I demand to have another!”

Craig reached the Lower Hall door and paused before he opened it. Looking over his shoulder at the befuddled steward, Craig ordered, “If she has not left within the next five minutes, then forcibly remove her.” Craig pushed open the heavy door and stopped once again to address the steward. “Oh, and Fallon, I do not mean depositing her outside the hall here in the bailey, but beyond the castle walls. Be sure to instruct the guards at the gatehouse as to my wishes.”

The door was swinging closed when he heard her shriek something about Conor and Laurel. Craig was unfazed. He suspected that in comparison to his brother and sister-in-law, he had been overly tolerant of her tantrum and fairly compassionate. And while Craig did not have high hopes that she would ever realize the truth of her situation, he no longer was willfully ignorant of his.

The truth was that the relationship he and Meriel had was no more. Too many things had happened for it to remain unchanged. And there was Hamish.

Whether or not she had been playing a ruse at the beginning was becoming less and less relevant each time she and Hamish met. His friend liked Meriel, and his feelings for her were growing. Whether they would grow beyond his usual infatuation was hard to determine, but the man was acting disturbingly more serious and sincere. Had Meriel’s feelings also changed, or did she still see Hamish as a friend? Where did the truth begin and end?

Craig clenched his jaw. If Meriel wanted to talk, then they would. And right now.

Craig pivoted and marched toward the North Tower.
Hope you are ready, Meriel
, Craig mumbled to himself.
You wanted a subject to discuss
—
well, I have several.

Craig entered the castle and could hear Meriel laughing, indicating that the door was open and that someone was with her. He bounded up the staircase preparing how he was going to interrupt the lively party and evict Hamish, and not just for now, but forever. By the time he reached her room, the tension in his body had neared its breaking point, causing him to erupt at the scene in front of him. “What exactly is going on in here!”

Laughter came to an abrupt halt and two pairs of shocked eyes were leveled on him. One was hazel and belonged to Meriel. The other was silver and had just become quite icy. Craig blinked and sent a prayer to the men in Brenna’s future. If at eight years of age she knew how to level a cold stare at a man, then whomever pledged himself to her for life had no hope of ever winning an argument, whether in the right or not. “Sorry, little Bren, I . . . uh . . . I thought you were someone else.”

Now confused, Brenna put the brush down on the small table beside her and asked, “Meriel, I thought you said that I was the only one you allowed to play with your hair.”

Meriel smoothed back the girl’s playful light blond curls and said, “I did say that.” And when that did not completely placate the little girl, she added in a whisper that was intentionally loud enough for Craig to hear, “Remember what I said about boys and how they think?”

Brenna’s eyes grew large and she broke into a wide grin and gave Meriel a huge hug around her neck. She whispered something back, which caused Meriel to giggle and squeeze her in return. “Unfortunately, I think your uncle wants to talk to me about stuff you will find boring and silly. So we are going to have to postpone the rest of our hair-braiding lesson for another day.”

Brenna nodded and gave Meriel another hug. Then she pivoted, stomped to the door, and waited for Craig to move out of her way. Once he did so, she crossed her arms demonstratively and gave him a loud “Hmph!” followed by “I’m going to Mama!” before sashaying out the door and down the stairwell.

The threat did not faze Craig. If anything, when Laurel discovered that he and Meriel were alone in her room, he suspected his sister-in-law would secretly be pleased at the idea. She had stopped meddling in his life overtly—for the moment—but that did not mean she was not still secretly hoping, if not planning, for things to go her way.

Craig sighed and stepped inside. “Just what is it you have been telling Brenna? And what is Laurel going to say when she learns . . . good God, what have you been doing to your hair?” he choked when Meriel turned so that he could see her straight on.

One side of her head—the side he could see when he had walked in—looked matted, as if she had been sleeping on it. He assumed this was the result of Brenna’s handiwork. But when Meriel turned to look him, he was able to see her other side, which was a cross between ghastly and terrifying. Last year when Brenna had done Meriel’s hair, the mess on top of her head had been wild, if not humorous. This time there was nothing remotely amusing about her appearance. Braids of various sizes were sprouting from all angles, so she looked like a creature that might have been spawned from the pits of hell.

Meriel raised her chin slightly and said, “I have done nothing to my hair. Brenna, however, was learning the different techniques of braiding.”

Craig took a deep breath, walked over to where she sat, and grabbed the looking glass on the table, handing it to her. Meriel furrowed her brows but took the glass. She yelped as soon as she saw her reflection and immediately sought out a brush. “I had no idea,” she murmured, her embarrassment sincere.

Craig shrugged his shoulders. “Be glad it was me who walked in here and not someone else.”

Meriel began undoing the braids. “Just who did you think was in here with me?” she asked with a frustrated squeal as she fought a nasty tangle.

Craig sheepishly frowned and took the brush from her hands. “Hamish,” he admitted, and carefully removed the strands that had gotten trapped in the brush’s bristles.

Only after he began to take pieces of her hair and slowly comb out the tangles did it occur to him that the act of brushing Meriel’s hair could be considered an incredibly intimate one. One that, if he had walked in and seen Hamish performing, might have resulted in bloodshed. Craig knew he should back off, but he could not find the will to stop the small pleasure and let it continue.