Seducing the Highlander (8 page)

Conan issued a smirk accompanied by a belittling shrug of his shoulders. “I asked only because she has been going after him for nearly a year. I thought this might be another tactic of hers. You know,
maybe he’ll miss me
.” He squeaked at the end, feigning a woman’s voice.

“Or,” Hamish hissed, “Craig has been going after
her
and Meriel is escaping him.”

Conan barked out a single derisive laugh at the concept. “Is that true, Lady Meriel?” he asked, turning to look directly at her. “Are you doing the running or the chasing?”

“Neither,” Meriel said, proud she was able to keep her voice level and calm.

Focused on his goal of proving that she was unworthy of his brother’s affections, Conan continued. “So then you are here because someone is again dictating the direction of your life. No, wait, could it be that your mind has finally developed to the point you can now make decisions for yourself?”

Meriel could feel her jaw clench. The man was not only rude beyond description, it was as if he could somehow see into her soul and announce her private fears. Life was full of nuances that Meriel had no opinion on and therefore tended to ignore, letting others have their way. But somehow Conan recognized that without any of her family around to push their will upon her, she was, for the first time, having to make decisions for herself. And it had been uncomfortable.

Thankfully, she was reprieved from coming up with a witty response when the doors opened and Conor stepped inside. He quickly joined the small group, placed a kiss upon his wife’s cheek, and uttered his apologies for being late.

Hamish sat down, glaring at Conan. He respected the younger McTiernay in many ways, for the man was unbelievably brilliant—quite possibly the smartest Highlander he had ever or would ever know. But Conan was also the most maddening.

Not only had he been gifted with intelligence, he was in many ways the most handsome of the brothers. In addition to the McTiernay bright blue eyes, the man had dimples so deep that it should have been an embarrassment. And yet somehow the feminine feature only made him better looking. His thick, dark brown hair was shorter than most, and though it normally looked ruffled and unkempt, that did not deter women’s advances. Too many times had Hamish heard the female sex whisper about how Conan’s hair created a state of longing to run fingers through it. But it was not Conan’s physical attributes that aggravated Hamish, it was how the young man used them. All too often Hamish had found his hopes and plans to woo a female dashed because he met her after she had experienced Conan’s reckless and callous behavior.

“Don’t mind him,” Hamish said, his voice deep and stern, aimed not at Meriel but at Conan. “He’s been grumpy for the past week or so, constantly complaining of a headache.
Tolla-thon
.”

Sitting down, she reached over to pick up her pewter mug. Before drinking the ale, she turned to Conan and said, “Headaches? Hmm, while I knew it would take more than a year for you to mature to a level of normal conversation, I was under the impression you were somewhat clever. Perhaps the next time you decide to torment someone, you will choose an activity that does not also inflict pain upon yourself.”

“On the contrary,
Lady
Schellden,” Conan countered, grinding out her title between his teeth, “my headaches,
if I have them
, are not reducing my ability to think or comprehend anything you would have to say.”

“Be careful,” Hamish warned. “Craig may not be here to lay you out flat, but I am.”

Meriel shot Hamish an icy look that kept him in his seat and his fists to himself. Only the addition of a soft smile let him know that while she appreciated his help, she not only intended to fight her own battles, she wanted to do so.

Licking the ale from her lips, Meriel leisurely replaced the mug on the table and tore off a piece of bread. She leaned to the side to allow a servant to put a large platter of meat on the table. When the servant had moved on, Meriel bestowed her most engaging smile on Conan. “I know of one subject that has eluded you and I suspect will continue to baffle your twisted mind for some time,” she said before plopping a small chunk of the warm loaf in her mouth.

“Let me guess—women,” Conan growled just before ripping off a piece of meat from its bone with his teeth.

Laughter rippled through the air, catching the attention of those near. “Ah, a glimmer of your intelligence is finally emerging, Conan. You are half-correct. I know of no one who knows less about women than you. But I was referring more to gentlemanly behavior.”

Hamish put down his leg of meat and crossed his arms, listening with interest. Once again, he was reminded that there was much more to sweet, docile Meriel than appeared. The woman whom he had pegged as boring and unappealing despite her physical beauty, was again turning out to be far more interesting . . . and entertaining.

Conan’s focus was completely on Meriel. If he was aware that the conversations around him were dying as people began to shift their attention toward him, he gave no indication. “And yet, my supposed lack of understanding on that topic has not seemed to interfere with my . . .
social
activities.”

From the head of the table, Meriel heard Laurel inhale deeply at the implication, but before she could intervene, Meriel returned the verbal sparring, blocking and attacking in turn. “You mean
limited
activities, do you not, Conan? I mean, it is a shame your knowledge of women is solely of the female anatomy. There is so much more to us. For example, when someone childishly throws things on the floor to annoy the person in the room below, women know how to take scraps of material and use them to block the noise.” She reached into the small pocket of her bliaut and pulled out two small pieces of cloth and began to wad them up. After inserting them into her ears, she added, “It also helps to prevent headaches when you are forced to sit by someone inordinately obnoxious.”

Conan, however, was not remotely deterred. He refused to concede to another Schellden
woman
. Last year, he had been forced to compromise with her sister, but he was not going to do so again. Yet, before he could issue his scathing response, the one that would let him end this conversation as the victor, Conor butted in.

“Conan, keep your mouth shut and eat. If you ruin another meal because Hamish decides to pummel you for your lack of civility, I’m going to assume your stupidity extends beyond your mouth to your arm, and order you to attend training every day for a month.”

Conan glared at his brother, but it did little good. Eighteen years his senior, Conor had always been able to physically enforce Conan’s compliance. As he got older, Conan’s respect for Conor grew, and his brother’s opinion was one of the few about which he actually cared. Still, Conan was no longer willing to be lectured by Conor, and it did not matter that he might have earned his brother’s admonishment. He would not openly defy Conor, but neither would he remain at the table when he had practically been ordered to eat and be quiet, as if he were a child. Conan grabbed a whole loaf of bread, put it on his plate, picked up the plate and his mug, and stomped out of the hall.

Along with the rest of the table, Laurel was in shock. For years she had been hoping Conor would say as much to his younger brother, knowing he was the only one to whom Conan would listen. But Conor had forever refused to take on a fatherly role. He would lead his brothers, help and guide by example, but he was not their father and felt pretending to be such would ruin the brotherly bond they shared. So when Conor said what he did, Laurel felt compelled to lean over and whisper, “You, my love, are going to be richly rewarded later tonight.”

Meanwhile, Meriel sat and exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding. Ignoring the stares that had shifted from watching Conan walk out the door to her, she pasted on an unconcerned expression and began to nibble on her meat, glad when heads turned to resume their previous conversations.

Only Hamish remained quiet as they finished eating. He waited until she rose to leave, then stood up and spoke. “Lady Meriel, would you take a walk with me? I find I need company tonight and would much appreciate you lending me yours.”

Meriel closed her eyes and smiled, shaking her head at the flowery invitation. Hamish could not stop himself from flirting, even with someone who held no real interest for him. “I would be delighted, but only if you give me an update on your latest pursuit.”

 

 

After giving their thanks to their host and hostess, who were both embroiled in conversations that would keep them bound to the table for another half hour to an hour, Meriel followed Hamish out of the hall and into the courtyard. The night air was crisp and clear.

“You cold?” Hamish asked.

“I’m fine. This gown is much warmer than it looks.”

“Then shall we dare to venture out beyond the walls toward the loch? There, away from the fires, the stars shine their brightest.”

Meriel laughed and again Hamish was surprised to be enchanted by the sound. “With your charm, how every woman does not fall into your arms is a mystery.”

“And yet, I do not see you even coming near to swooning.”

Meriel’s elbow poked his side. “Lucky for you then, that I am immune.”

Hamish was not so sure about that conclusion but decided not to pursue the matter. Meriel, despite being on McTiernay land and technically being unattached, was not a free woman. His thought had been to protect her in his friend’s stead. But that was no longer the only reason behind his actions. He was truly beginning to see Meriel as
his
friend as well. “I am sorry about Conan’s behavior this evening.”

Meriel tossed her head back and shook her hair, which she had left mostly down so that only small, intricate braids framed her face. “Oh, I knew even before I arrived that the truce he and my sister declared last year lacked the teeth of permanency.”

Hamish felt his flesh tighten as the golden hues of her hair were caught in the moonlight. “Does not matter. Conan should not have gone after you like he did.”

“Maybe not, but it is time that I stop leaning on others to run interference. Craig always told me I was stubborn enough to do so; I just lack the fighter instinct.”

“Well, you didn’t tonight! I must admit to being impressed.”

“Who knows? Maybe I had the instinct all along, I just didn’t need it before.”

Hamish’s eyes came up to study her face, to see if she was serious. “Regardless, you should not have had to defend yourself like that. Conan . . . he was . . . offensive.”

“Actually he was something far worse. He was
right
,” Meriel muttered with frustration. “I do avoid making decisions. It is not that I cannot make them, I just choose not to.”

“There is nothing wrong with that.”

Meriel shook her head in disagreement. “There is when the reason behind such a choice is laziness.”

Hamish stopped and halted her beside him. “Anyone who knows you, knows that you are
not
lazy. Just look at all you have done since you’ve arrived! I understand that you have been working practically nonstop. I was very close to talking to the laird about it.”

Meriel stared at him, baffled. She had barely seen Hamish since they arrived. She had run into him periodically in the courtyard, but never did they talk for more than a few minutes and of nothing of any import. “To Laird McTiernay?” she asked incredulously. “But why? No one was
making
me do anything. And if I was pushing myself, it was not because I am industrious; it was for a more humiliating reason.”

Hamish once again started walking toward the loch. “Which is?”

Meriel hesitated telling the truth and exposing herself, but decided that she was tired of being afraid. “Fear. I did not want to face my future. I still don’t. Conan was just intuitively picking up on this.”

Hamish could not help but be impressed. It was not often someone could be that honest about their faults. Those who could, possessed a rare asset. “Well, you will not have to worry about Conan much longer. He’s leaving at the end of the week.”

“Because of me?” Meriel asked, horrified that her attack on Conan’s pride might have forced him out of his home.

“No! Not at all,” Hamish argued as he pointed down to alert her to avoid a hole barely large enough to twist a foot. “Conan had already been planning to join Father Lanaghly on his trip to Lindores Abbey. Something about needing to speak to one of the master teachers about the language on one of his beloved maps. He wanted to visit and return before winter arrives in a couple of months.”

Meriel rolled her eyes, clueless to Conan’s fascination with his drawings. In doing so, she did not see a rock and stumbled. She would have fallen if Hamish had not caught her in time and held her upright. Startled and feeling the need to break the intimacy of their contact, Meriel brought up Wyenda. “And how about you? Will you be making special plans with a certain someone before this winter?”

Hamish let her go and shifted his gaze to the body of water that lapped against the distant shoreline. “Capturing Wyenda’s heart is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

Meriel was not at all surprised. Since her arrival and her inadvertent mentioning of the woman to Maegan, she had learned quite a bit about Wyenda and had even chanced upon the opportunity to verify people’s opinions for herself. Meriel had been on her way to the village well to get Aileen some water when she overheard Wyenda talking to another clanswoman. Wyenda freely admitted that she was toying with Hamish’s affections in an effort to make Iain Matheson jealous. The woman thought only of becoming a nobleman’s wife, thinking her beauty alone was enough to merit such an honor.

Before Meriel could mention what she had heard, Hamish cautioned her. “Please do not be like everyone else and tell me that she is playing with my affections until she finds a better suitor. She may say such things, but I’m not sure it is true. Wyenda grew up with no siblings, and her mother died when she was young. Her father was an important man to King Robert, and she spent a lot of time with people constantly doting on her. So she grew up without the benefit of a lot of the lessons you and I received in our youth. She has a good heart, but after her father passed, she was forced to move to the Highlands and stay with her last living relative—her maternal grandmother. Wyenda believes her beauty is the only thing she has to escape her current situation. She just needs someone to look beyond her hardened exterior.”