Tempting the Highlander (26 page)

Leaving on her chemise, she blew out the candle and then fell onto the bed. Fatigue affected every aspect of her body, but her mind would not stop churning. Something was niggling at her.

And then it struck her what it was.

Nooooo,
Raelynd shouted inside her head. But it was too late. She could not pretend that Laurel had not orchestrated the last few days just for this very reason.

“Experience of living another person’s life, even temporarily, can be invaluable, Raelynd. I won’t let anyone rob you of it.”

Laurel had been right. The experience had been invaluable and life changing.

But Raelynd vowed to never admit it, least of all to Laurel.

Chapter 16

Cyric sat and listened as four of the western Highlands’ most powerful men spoke their minds about the king’s brother’s progress in Ireland. When first invited to the meeting this morning, Cyric thought he had misunderstood. His clansmen’s general treatment of him had improved in the past few days. The outright rejection of his presence was gone as well as the verbal slights within his hearing, but Cyric was fairly confident that they were still made when he wasn’t around. And these days, that was quite often.

Unlike before, when he was always lurking somewhere within Caireoch’s curtain walls, he now could be found there only during the day’s last meal. Most times he was at the training fields mingling with the men, providing support whenever he was asked. His uncle knew he went to the fields and never said a word—either of encouragement or dissuasion. And while no one ever asked him to leave, there was an underlying current from the handful of men in charge conveying that if his presence was tolerated, his interference would not be. But Cyric no longer cared as he once had.

Rowena had remarked on his change during one of their recent nightly talks. She had great insight into others and their emotional states, more than he thought anyone realized—including his uncle. So when she made even the simplest of statements, he listened.

Rowena had refused to explain what she meant by his change, only that it had nothing to do with those around him. At first, her opinion puzzled him as he believed himself to be the very same man who arrived a few weeks ago. But when he went to stable his horse after a particularly long ride, Cyric realized she was right. His uncle had introduced him to a few local families and Cyric decided to see what he could of Schellden lands within a half-day’s ride. Upon his return, a stable boy asked a simple question. Should he go and find the laird, the steward, or one of the commanders for Cyric to relate all that he did that day?

The question was initially baffling. What would be the purpose? Who would care? And then, at that very moment, Cyric finally understood. He had asked the stable boy to do that very thing the few first times he had ventured out of the castle walls. And he had not even gone very far or done anything really to remark about. In the Lowlands, he had been secure, with no need to prove himself to others for they knew of his skills, from fighting to riding to resolving issues. Here, though, no one did and in seeking their approval, he tried to tell them. If he had been able to stand outside himself and look objectively at his behavior, he would have called himself a fool. Rowena had been a judge of character for him, but she had been much nicer and prettier in delivering her assessments. Still, she was right. He had changed.

No longer was his confidence something he sought from others. Previously, it was only when people he respected thought well of him that he could then believe in himself. When they did not, he found himself adrift, mastering a series of skills with only one goal—to get them to respect him. As a result, insecurity had been a constant companion.

He would leave the Highlands a different person. For now, he believed in himself. He knew what he was capable of and that was now sufficient. For the first time in his life, he felt like the man he had always wanted his father to see him as. The difference was he no longer needed his father’s validation. He wanted it, but it was no longer necessary. But these changes were internal. Nobody—except Rowena—could be aware of them.

So yesterday, when four notable men from neighboring clans arrived for an impromptu meeting, Cyric had not been prepared for his uncle to invite him to attend. Not briefed about who and what they were to talk about, Cyric assumed it was something minor or local. Perhaps the gathering for some games, or the upcoming wedding of his cousins. But it was far more serious and it wasn’t long before his attention was completely focused on the subject at hand.

The invasion of Ireland.

“But it does not matter, I tell you,” said Gilbert Grant. “Ireland has no true High King. Hasn’t for years and so it is not an invasion. We were asked to come.”

Cyric leaned back and said nothing. In many ways, Grant was correct. Ireland had no High King. But invited? More like an agreement was made between Robert I and Ó Néill along with some of his allies, who ruled a significant portion of northern Ireland.

“You want us to send men, when you have no authority to send any of your own,” challenged William Camirun.

Cyric found the accusation slightly amusing as William Camirun had no authority either. Like Gilbert Grant, William was not a laird. Both men had strong connections to Robert I, Grant through Robert de Grant and Laurin Lovat, and he was here as an envoy to help find support for the king’s brother. But unlike Grant, William Camirun was a close cousin of Angus Og, who just received the grant of Lochaber from the king, and he did have men.

“There is not one enemy to battle, but two,” stated John Fraser, who was laird of a clan that was allied through blood and marriage to Sir Alexander Fraser, a noted strong supporter of Bruce. “Most of the Irish are going to align themselves with England.”

“The English have done nothing to join the fight,” Grant stated.

“Edward the second is a fool, but he will eventually send his men. He will have no choice but to convene a Parliament in Dublin soon,” Rae Schellden finally interjected. “And if there are not enough Scots backing Edward, the king’s brother will be defeated when England does send support.”

Gilbert Grant’s fist slammed the table. “Exactly! Which is why Moray needs men now. He sets sail as soon as he is able to return with supplies and men. He did bring back the means to finance our support.”

“Not that we will see any of it,” William Camirun mumbled.

Conor McTiernay, who had been listening, sat back and asked, “What bothers you, Fraser? Losing men?”

John Fraser stared at the mug on the table long and hard. “I understand Edward’s pursuit, but the massacre of whole villages, of women and children, this is the behavior of English soldiers. Not Highlanders. And what about you, Schellden? Do you intend to support the king?”

Rae Schellden shook his head. “Not with men. I lost too many achieving the victory at Bannockburn. I’m still replenishing and training forces. Supplies may be possible, but not in significant quantities. Too many of those men who died were farmers. Several crops have gone untended. Their wives are only just starting to remarry men who will man the farms.”

John Fraser turned to Conor. “And you, McTiernay?”

Conor sighed. “I agree the carnage rumored to have happened should not be ignored. But aye, I will be sending men. My youngest brother, Clyde, will be going along with three-dozen men. Twelve each from me, Colin, and Cole.”

“That’s all?” questioned Camirun, surprised.

Conor glanced at Schellden and then back at the young man. “I’m not convinced that our good king will not be calling for men.”

The simple statement silenced the group. What was Robert I’s plan? His brother Edward Bruce was in Ireland fighting for control, but anyone who met Robert I knew the new king was not likely to just leave the English alone.

Schellden turned his gaze toward Cyric. “You have been quiet, Cyric.”

Cyric blinked but with a shrug said, “I can only listen. I have neither authority nor men.”

“True, but you have a better understanding of our king and his ambitions. What do you know of Robert’s true plan?”

Cyric leaned back and considered the answer. He had been told directly very little and it would be easy to evade answering based on that truth, but it would not help these men. And yet, he was not inclined to persuade them to a particular path. “I’ve not been told directly, but I did discern much via other ways when I was with the king before I journeyed here.” There, they now knew that his opinion was conjecture.

“And?” came the simultaneous question from both Grant and Camirun.

“And Robert’s primary plan with Ireland is to drain England of its resources, deviating Edward’s focus from Scotland to that of Ireland where it will be harder to recall his men . . . if needed.”

Conor leaned back and rubbed his chin. “So King Robert does intend to attack.”

“I cannot say for certain, but aye, I believe so. And as you suspect, the king will be calling for men to support
him
and not his brother to fight the southern borders in the near future. But that doesn’t mean he is not interested in what his brother is trying to do. Like Scotland, Ireland is populated by Gaels, who also despise England and its oppressive rulers. With Edward as King of Ireland and Robert King of Scotland, their alliance would enable them to attack England on multiple fronts. Edward could go after Wales while our king could attack England from the north.”

John Fraser took a deep breath. “We will support King Robert when the time comes,” he stated simply, without the need to explain his reasoning.

“Then I will talk to my cousin about sending men to Edward,” William Camirun asserted, surprising all as he seemed the most reticent about doing so. “If England conquers Ireland, the Isle of Man would once again be in danger of English rule.”

“Then it is settled,” Schellden said, rising to his feet. “Grant, you have your answer. Camirun, Fraser, thank you for coming and I shall not delay your return with unnecessary festivities. My steward will see that you are well stocked with food and provisions.” The three men looked relieved as they rose, said good-byes and left the Hall, for each one was eager to begin his journey home while there were still several hours of light.

“McTiernay, I believe your wife needed to speak to me,” Schellden said with a grin, which only made Conor’s grimace grow.

“Aye,” Conor returned, and then glanced pointedly at Cyric.

Cyric felt the level stare and returned it out of curiosity. Why did the man feel the need to assess him? He was not a threat with his brothers’ upcoming marriages to his cousins.

“I shall get her,” Conor said eventually, and then added, “Shall we meet in your dayroom?”

Schellden raised a single brow and then nodded. Both men exited the room, leaving Cyric alone. His uncle had given him little attention during the meeting, which was understandable considering the topic. But right after Cyric had given his opinion about what he concluded to be the king’s goal, his uncle had issued him a blank stare, the kind one gave when making a determination. Cyric was unsure of his uncle’s verdict, but he was satisfied with his own contribution that afternoon. It was asked for, not volunteered, and he spoke the truth without giving unsolicited advice. If his uncle thought otherwise, then next time he wouldn’t ask him to sit in, let alone speak.

Cyric wished Rowena would seek him out and join him. He could ask her what she thought of the situation. Since their kiss, she had only sought him out at night, after the last meal of the day had been served and while servants were still cleaning. He knew it was a tactic to protect herself and wanted to tell her that she did not have to fear he would kiss her again. He wanted to, very much, but the risk of losing her advice, her friendship—her sheer
company
—was just too high.

“So the rumors were correct. You were invited to the talks,” he heard a soft voice say from behind. He twisted his head to see Rowena, winding around the tables being erected for the next meal, approaching him. He smiled. “And I also see that they went well.”

“Very well,” Cyric confirmed. “Or I am a fool. And I doubt my uncle would have asked me to join in on a discussion of importance to the king if he felt that way. My opinion was even requested.”

“I am not surprised.”

Cyric raised a brow as he watched her near. “I am,” he confessed. “I’m just fortunate that I knew something of the topic.”

“You are intentionally downplaying the incredible diplomacy skills you possess,” Rowena chided as she sat in the chair next to him.

“I am?”

The question was innocently posed, but far from ingenuous. Rowena leaned over the arm of her chair and teasingly cooed, “You should consider becoming an advisor to the king.”

“Only if you come with me.”

Rowena tried unsuccessfully not to chuckle. “And just what would I do when you disappeared to solve the problems of Scotland and its people.”

“You?” Cyric asked, arching an eyebrow mischievously. “You would charm everyone around you. Your compassion and your wit—”

“Don’t forget my great beauty,” she inserted.

“
And
your exquisite beauty would enrapture everyone.”

Rowena pulled back slightly and bit her lip to stifle a grin in an effort to look serious. “Then I best not go. You would have to spend so much time fighting off my admirers you no doubt would get in trouble with the king.”

Her brown eyes were sparkling with laughter and Cyric was mesmerized. He loved how she played with her bottom lip when contemplating something. Rowena was not beautiful in the traditional sense, but every time he looked at her, his pulse would begin to race. The woman was smart, sensitive, and all things he ever wanted. He trusted her with his heart and soul, and he knew the feeling would not go away anytime soon. Probably never.

He reached up, cupped her chin with his hands and then kissed her slowly, taking his time, letting her feel the endless need and love inside him. “I think I’m falling for you, Rowena,” he said as they finally parted.

Rowena swallowed. Her eyes locked with his, asking questions—questions she did not dare ask aloud. “Don’t . . . say that. Not that.”

Cyric stilled as he assimilated her answer to his near declaration. He felt his heart turn to stone and the sweat caused from the heat building between them instantly chilled. She did not love him. Their relationship was to be one of only friendship. Of all the blunders he had committed in his lifetime, this one was the worst of all.

“You have my apologies, my lady. It shall not happen again,” he said, his manner cool and aloof as he shifted to the right side of his chair, opposite where she sat.

Rowena stiffened as though he had struck her. “I . . . I . . . I will see you later,” she offered noncommittally, and as her form receded from view, a heavy weight seemed to overtake his limbs. He did not move.