Highlander's Reckoning (The Sinclair Brothers #3) (5 page)

Despite the low, dense clouds and the sharp wind,
sweat poured off Daniel’s bare chest. The sounds of men cheering for him at his
back clashed with the shouts in favor of his opponent, who stood panting in
front of him.

Daniel raised his sword and swung it down toward his
opponent’s shoulder, but the man blocked, binding Daniel’s blade and forcing it
into the ground. Instead of struggling against the other man’s strength, Daniel
pulled his sword back while stepping toward his opponent, driving his shoulder
into the other man’s chest.

That sent the man stumbling back, giving Daniel an
opening for another attack. He took another swing, this time aiming for his
opponent’s unsteady feet. The dulled edge of the blade thwacked into the man’s
ankles. With a surprised yelp, he tumbled to the ground on his back. Daniel
darted forward, placing his booted foot on the man’s sword arm so he couldn’t
land one final blow, then placed the tip of the practice sword against his
throat.

The men gathered in the yard roared their approval,
despite the fact that half of them had been cheering for the man now splayed on
his back.

Daniel’s plan couldn’t have worked better. Just
after dawn, he had set about organizing the men of the castle for a training
session in the yard. Though all had sworn their fealty yesterday, Daniel
suspected that some of the inhabitants of the castle and village were
disgruntled about the rapid change in authority at Loch Doon. After all, when
Kennedy had been charged with looking after the castle by the Bruce three years
ago, he had brought many of his own men from his clan’s keep at Dunure in
Turnberry.

But if there was one thing that could bond men and
build a sense of respect, it was fighting. After an hour of sword drills in the
chilly yard, Daniel had set up a mock tournament that pitted the men against
each other in pairs and eliminated the losers.

Hours later, it had come down to him and the man
that now lay prone under his blade—Harold Kennedy, he thought his name was. He
was almost as tall as Daniel, yet at least twice as wide. Daniel had already
noticed that many of the others deferred to him, clearly respecting his
strength and experience. That Daniel had bested him in a mostly friendly match
would go a long way in securing the men’s trust and respect.

He withdrew the point of the practice blade and
extended a hand to Harold, who was panting and frowning in disbelief.

“I nearly had you with that blow to the ribs,”
Harold said.

“Aye, and I’ll have the bruises to prove it,” Daniel
said with a grin.

That seemed to please the large fighter, who thumped
Daniel on the back.

“And if the men see me limping around like a lame
horse, they’ll have you to thank for it, my lord!” Harold said cheerily.

The gathered men laughed and cheered as the two best
fighters exchanged a forearm grasp.

As Daniel turned toward the great hall for the
midday meal, his eyes caught a splash of emerald green in the doorway.

Rona stood watching him.

He hadn’t seen her after she’d excused herself to
her chamber yesterday, and by the time he’d dragged himself wearily to his own
chamber, he was too exhausted to spend time chewing on her strange behavior—and
his strong reaction to her.

He’d woken early, having spent a fitful night
dreaming of her eyes, which shifted from defiant to vulnerable and back again.
His mind had also conjured up a few other choice images of her that left him
feeling achy and unsatisfied upon waking.

Seeing her now, dressed in a bright green gown, her
red hair flowing loosely around her shoulders, the images from his dreams
suddenly came back to him.

Her, naked and spread out on his large bed.

Those pert breasts, creamy white and tipped with the
same rosy shade as her lips.

Her blue eyes flashing at him in pleasure.

As he approached her in the doorway, he scooped up
his discarded shirt but didn’t bother donning it. The men around him began to
disperse, but he could feel the curious looks they sent toward their new lord
and lady.

“Did you enjoy the spectacle, lass?” he said,
stopping right in front of her.

Though she tried to put on a regal air, he didn’t
miss the flutter of her eyes down the bare expanse of his torso.

“Men are strange,” she said simply, raising her eyes
to his in an attempt at nonchalance.

“I’d say that at least we are straightforward. It’s
much easier to gain a man’s trust than a woman’s.” He let his eyes openly rake
over her. “You are looking well today, Rona. The illness you felt yesterday has
passed?”

“Aye, it was nothing,” she said with a wave of her
hand. They were standing so close, however, that her fingertips brushed his
chest.

He clenched unconsciously, and a little gasp escaped
from her parted lips.

Bloody hell, why did she have such a strong effect
on him? He had enjoyed the company of a few lasses back at his uncle’s keep and
had even been pursued by a couple of them. But none could have had him reeling
simply by brushing his chest.

“Perhaps you look so hale and hearty today because
it is our wedding day,” he said in a low voice.

That didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of
blushing prettily or batting her eyelashes at him, a look of fright crossed her
face, and she took an unconscious step backward. Though he’d never had a
problem with the lasses before, perhaps he wasn’t as knowledgeable as he
thought.

Or perhaps Rona was a different kind of lass. Her
reactions kept catching him off-guard. She put up walls where other lasses
would have flirted or preened, and she softened at the most unexpected moments.

“So you remain determined that we must wed today?”
she said. Was that a hint of anxiety in her voice?

“Aye. There is no point in putting it off,” he said
flatly, once again unsure of her reactions. “Is there a reason you wish to
delay?”

“We are still strangers, my lord, and—”

“Call me Daniel. That’s at least one formality we
can do away with.”

“Very well…Daniel. We hardly know each other, and
yet we will be expected to—that is, we will…tonight…”

Now she blushed, but it wasn’t coy. Her face was
filled with deep embarrassment, and something else, something like…fear?

Realization hit him like a splash of cold water.

“Has no one explained to you what happens between a
man and a woman on their wedding night?”

If it was possible, the redness in her cheeks darkened.
“Nay, my mother and Agnes…I understand the basic events.”

Suddenly Daniel felt like the barbarian she had
called him earlier. Here he was, thrusting his bare chest in her face and
speaking to her quietly about today being their wedding day when instead of
enticing the lass, he was terrifying her.

He pulled his shirt over his head and extended his
arm to her. “Take a turn around the yard with me, Rona.”

Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his, and despite
how uncomfortable she seemed, a bolt of heat shot through him at her touch.

“Why isn’t your mother here with you and your father
at Loch Doon?” he said casually, hoping to ease the lass’s discomfort.

“She came with us when we moved here three years
ago,” Rona replied, “but within a matter of months, she moved back to Dunure.
She said it was too drafty here. She’s never been very…hardy.”

Nothing like her daughter, then
,
Daniel thought.

“And what of the rest of your family?”

“I have three older brothers—had.” She swallowed but
went on levelly. “Philip was killed fighting for the Bruce. John is at Dunure,
running the clan and keep in our father’s stead, and Bran…well, Bran is still
finding his way.”

No wonder the lass and her father had bristled when
their loyalty to the Bruce was called into question. He hadn’t known that they
had already lost a member of their family to the wars for independence.

“Your family sounds a lot like mine, though we have
been fortunate—we haven’t lost anyone to the wars. As you have so politely
pointed out, I am the third son of the Sinclair clan in the northeast corner of
the Highlands.”

She shot him a look of horror, but he sent her back
a crooked smile to let her know he was only teasing her. Her hand relaxed more
on top of his, increasing the contact.

“I also have a cousin who is of an age with my
brothers and me, so it has often felt like I have three older brothers.”

“Did they pick on you, as my older brothers did to
me?” she asked with a sideways glance at him.

He snorted in amusement. “Oh, aye. They left me in
holes they dug, forced me to climb trees up to the thinnest branches, and
regularly pummeled me in our play-wars.”

That actually drew a giggle from her.

“My childhood suffering amuses you, Rona?” he
teased.

“Nay, it just sounds all too familiar!” she said, turning
her radiant smile on him. His chest squeezed as he gazed at her sparkling eyes
and merry grin. His eyes lingered on her lips, and for an instant he thought he
might kiss her, but then she turned away again.

The silence stretched as they began their second
loop of the courtyard.

“I suppose,” he said quietly after another moment,
“that we should thank them for all their torture.”

She glanced up at him quizzically.

“For our older brothers’ rough treatment of us has
made us what we are today.”

“And what are we?” she asked softly.

“We are strong. We do not bend to the slight breezes
around us, or even to the strong winds—for better or worse.”

She stopped and turned toward him but kept her hand
on top of his. The light of recognition glowed in her eyes as she studied him.
But then her eyes shifted to the ground.

“Mostly for worse, in my case. Sometimes I think
life would be easier if I weren’t so stubborn and hot-headed,” she muttered

“I’ll take that as fair warning for our impending
marriage,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

He started them walking again, savoring the delicate
amiability they were building. It was certainly an improvement on their first
encounter.

“What else should I know about you before we are
married?” he said.

Somehow, yet again, he had said the wrong thing. She
stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have any other interests or skills? Surely
as the daughter of the Laird of the Kennedy clan you must have some talents or
expertise. Needlework, perhaps? Or can you sing?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“Daniel.”

“Nay, Daniel,” she said mechanically. “I am a
disappointment in the ladylike arts.”

Why did he get the impression that she was holding
something back? He glanced at her face and noticed that her eyes shifted
restlessly across the yard and her lips were compressed.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he said,
suddenly wary.

“Nay! There is nothing.” Her voice was strained
though.

He halted them again and turned to face her, but
before he could interrogate her further, she withdrew her hand from his and
bolted for the tower keep.

Daniel watched her go, a growing unease creeping
into his mind. One minute they were building an amiable acquaintance, and the
next, she was being evasive and flighty. What was the lass hiding?

Rona tried and failed to steady her hand as she
reached for her cup of spiced wine. Luckily, all those gathered in the hall for
their wedding celebration were too deep in their own cups to notice.

The wedding ceremony had flown by in a blur. Father
Gabriel had conducted the ritual in the castle’s kirk a mere hour before, but
Rona felt so disoriented and overwhelmed that it might have been a week ago.

She had been so nervous that she had shaken slightly
then too, but Daniel’s warm, firm hands had enclosed around hers, strangely
soothing her and making her more anxious at the same time.

“Are you well, wife?” Daniel said quietly, leaning
toward her on the dais.

Apparently she wasn’t going unnoticed after all. Her
stomach fluttered at his low, deep voice next to her ear. No, she wasn’t well.
Not in the least.

She was a married woman now. She glanced up at
Daniel, who wore a frown on his dark features. She should count herself lucky.
She could have been married off to some old codger, and instead she was bound
for life to the ruggedly handsome, tall, strapping Highlander seated next to
her on the dais.

“I have my monthly curse,” she blurted out. It was a
bald-faced lie, and she wasn’t sure why she told it, but she had to do
something to delay their wedding night.

She almost wished that her husband was the kind of
monstrous old codger young brides feared. If he were aged and frail of body,
perhaps he wouldn’t have so much power over her. As it was, the mere sight of
Daniel sent ripples of heated awareness through her. And when they had kissed
in the kirk after speaking their vows—

It had been barely a brush of the lips, but Daniel
had held the kiss a second longer than necessary. In that moment, his masculine
scent, of leather and mint, had enveloped her, making her feel light-headed and
girlish.

His lips had been surprisingly soft. How could such
a rugged warrior be so gentle? But as he’d pulled back from the kiss, his
blue-gray eyes had pinned her with a look of hunger that stirred something deep
inside her. Something that was decidedly ungentle.

She couldn’t let him affect her so much. She feared
her own reaction to him, feared that her mind would become clouded and addled
enough that she might let something slip—something that could cost not only her
life, but also the lives of Ian and Mairi Ferguson.

As it was, he was giving her one of those piercing
looks that made her fear that he could see right through her lie.

“How…unfortunate,” he said levelly.

“We’ll have to wait to consummate our marriage,” she
said with her best attempt at innocence. He only grunted in response, though
his eyes remained on her, searching her face.

She turned back to watch the merriment of the
castle’s residents, pretending to be engrossed. All told, it was a relatively
muted celebration. Because many months of winter stretched before them, and
because it had been a harder year that most, the feast was more like a large
meal. And though some villagers had braved the choppy, cold waters of the loch
to attend the celebration, the biting wind that promised a wicked storm had
kept most at home.

Daniel had mentioned at the start of the meal that
there would be a more elaborate celebration in a month or two when the worst of
winter was over. He even mentioned that his family would likely join them to
honor their marriage. After what he had told her of his family, she was
intrigued to meet them.

But, she reminded herself firmly, she couldn’t get
too close to this man or his family if she hoped to maintain her secret.

Of course, lying about her monthly curse was only a
temporary solution. She knew she would eventually have to consummate the
marriage with him. Even though she was a maiden and should be afraid of what
that would entail, the thought brought a foreign warmth to her limbs, one that
couldn’t entirely be attributed to the spiced wine.

That was exactly the kind of reaction that could
make her slip up. She cursed her own body for its womanly desire for the very
masculine presence next to her. Why couldn’t he have been old and ineffectual
and addlebrained? Why did he have to be young and handsome, strong and
sharp-witted? How could she ever hope to protect her love of falconry and the
dear friends who had taught her?

This was all too much. She mumbled an excuse and
stood from the table to leave, but he caught her hand in his, tugging her back.

“Good night,
wife
,” he said warmly, though
his stormy eyes bore into her.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. But instead of
releasing her hand when he withdrew his lips, he pulled her down into his lap.

Before she knew what was happening, he captured her
mouth in a searing kiss. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her
in place, while the other snaked through her loose hair to gently grip the nape
of her neck.

This kiss was nothing like their first in the kirk.
Instead of a light brush, his lips melded to hers. Somehow, his lips were
simultaneously soft and firm, demanding and coaxing. That scent, of leather and
mint and his unique warm skin, snaked around her once again, intoxicating her.

His tongue flicked against her lower lip, and she
instinctively parted her lips a little. To her surprise, he tilted their heads
more, and then slowly began exploring her mouth. His tongue caressed her, hot
and wet. She had never been kissed like this before. Though her own innocence
left her in the dark on such matters, she began to have an inkling of where
kisses could lead, and why she had always been told never to give her kisses to
the castle lads.

His tongue swirled, penetrating her.

Their mouths were fused hotly, moving together.

Her head spun as the sensations swept over her.

This was intimate. And from what little she knew,
this was a precursor to much more intimate acts.

Tentatively, she grazed his tongue with hers. The
hand on her nape contracted, tightening its grip on her hair and neck, which
sent shivers of awareness through her. The tingles seemed to gather especially
in her breasts and between her legs.

Suddenly she became aware of a growing hardness
under her bottom. Even through the thick wool of his kilt, she could feel him
filling with desire and need. Some instinctual drive inside told her to move
her hips slightly so that she ground against his lap. When she did, he exhaled
sharply through his nose. A feminine satisfaction seeped into her.

The whistles and ribald jokes sent up from the
crowded hall snapped her out of her dangerously tantalizing reverie. She jerked
her head back, breaking their kiss, but he held her firmly in place on his lap.

“I look forward to our
real
wedding night,
lass,” he said huskily in her ear.

She couldn’t muster a response. Instead, she stood
with whatever dignity she could scrape together and practically stumbled toward
the stairs on the other side of the hall. She kept her eyes down, but she was
sure the burning in her cheeks gave her away to everyone in the hall, including
Daniel.

The cool darkness of her chamber did little to
alleviate her heated skin and racing heart. Damn her body! It had a mind of its
own when it came to Daniel Sinclair.

Her husband.

How much could she truly keep from him? He didn’t
seem like the type of man to let things go unnoticed. He hadn’t pressed her
further about where she’d been on the day he arrived, but how many more times
could she disappear for several hours at a time before he demanded an
explanation?

Her father had either never noticed or didn’t care
enough about her whereabouts to raise a fuss about it. And anyone else who
observed her leaving the castle and crossing the loch must have assumed that
she enjoyed going to the village or walking alone in the woods. They had all
accepted that she was an unusual sort of girl.

She had never been good at sewing or weaving or
overseeing the household. But Agnes and the other servants had the castle well
under control. And though she was barb-tongued and hot-tempered, people mostly
either admired her for her forthrightness or chuckled at her father’s inability
to control her.

But having a husband with piercing, observant eyes
and a stubborn, commanding temperament was going to ruin her carefully balanced
life—or worse.

There was simply too much at stake. She had to keep
finding ways to hold Daniel at arm’s length. For now it was the lie about her
monthly curse, but she would have to come up with something better, and fast.
The way he kissed her said that he wouldn’t be kept at bay for long.