Seducing the Highlander (20 page)

She placed her hand in Hamish’s and looked up at him with tears in her eyes—another useful skill she had mastered. Leaning into his side for support, forcing him to put his arm around her, she allowed him to escort her out of the castle. Inwardly Wyenda smiled, knowing that all behind her—including Meriel that little
baobh
—were watching. Tonight, she would mollify her anger with Hamish one last time, but starting tomorrow she would focus on her real goal—to live the life she was born to have.

Iain Matheson was not the best-looking nobleman and far from the fittest, nor was he laird of a clan. But he did live in an impressive stone tower within riding distance, and had numerous servants to address his whims. But most importantly, he was wealthy. It had been awhile, but Wyenda did not doubt her abilities to charm and ensnare. And it was time she put them back to work.

 

 

Laurel closed the door to Meriel’s room and leaned against the wooden planks. “I’m impressed. You accomplished everything you wanted to achieve tonight. You must get your skills to predict human behavior from your father.”

Meriel shrugged despondently. “Papa would have foreseen Wyenda’s viciousness with far more clarity and avoided it.”

Laurel nodded. “Aye. That last remark of hers took everyone by surprise,” she said quietly.

Meriel nodded solemnly and hugged her arms around her as she looked out her bedchamber window to the courtyard below. Hamish had been out there moments ago talking with Wyenda. The couple had been too far away for her to hear what they were saying as she and Laurel headed to the North Tower, and it had been impossible to tell from their behavior whether Hamish’s feelings for the woman had changed.

“I hope you are not putting any credence into what that creature said,” Laurel cautioned. “Wyenda is just a bitter woman who wanted to make sure she was not alone in feeling pain.”

“I know,” Meriel said quietly. “But her aim was remarkably close to the truth. And if I should fail . . . then everything she said tonight would become my reality.”

“Take heart. It will not be much longer before you will know for certain if your plan is going to succeed.”

Meriel turned to look at Laurel. “Not my plan,
our
plan. I could not have done this without you.”

Laurel waved her finger back and forth and casually walked up to Meriel, guiding her to the hearth chair to sit down. Carefully, Laurel began to take out the pins to unwind Meriel’s hair and then began to unbraid the long strands. “I will admit to helping with the execution, but
you
came to
me
with this brilliant idea. And more importantly, it is working.”

Meriel sat quietly and stared at the flames. “I am no longer so sure,” she murmured to herself. She thought she had been prepared for this evening. Wyenda’s aggressive behavior had been key to prompting the next step in her plan, so much so that Meriel had escalated the friction. And yet, despite all the thought that had gone into everything that led up to this evening, Meriel never anticipated Wyenda being able to hurt her as she had.

“I shall speak plainly, Meriel,” Laurel said in a soft but firm tone. “This is not my plan, but I did agree to be a part of it . . . and I don’t fail. So therefore your plan
will
work.” Laurel shook out the remaining thick, intertwined strands of Meriel’s hair. “Do you remember when you came to me and told me of your idea? I believed, just as you did, that you already had claimed Craig’s heart, but faced the difficulty of not only getting him to admit his love for you but actually acting upon it. You asked me what was the quickest, most sure way for a man to recognize his feelings. And I told you jealousy.”

“Craig certainly was not jealous tonight.”

“No, he wasn’t. But your plan required for him
not
to be jealous. Tonight was about removing any doubt in Craig’s mind that you and I are scheming together in an effort to win him. Wyenda may have offended you, but her caustic comments will be the instrument leading to your success. Remember, if she had not insulted you, the depression you are feeling right now would still be present, but for a far different reason.”

Meriel blinked at the reminder. Laurel was right. There were far more important things upon which to spend energy. Tonight had never been about Wyenda. Having Hamish see her true demeanor was a secondary goal. The success of the evening had really depended solely on Laurel’s
lack of
reaction to Wyenda’s attacks. “Did it work?” Meriel asked with a mixture of eagerness and fear.

“Just as you predicted,” Laurel assured her. “At first Craig was upset about the insults toward you, but when Wyenda launched her last attack, he was openly assessing me, trying to understand why I did not intervene. His face practically announced his conclusion that tonight was just another piece of an elaborate plan to make him prove his love by jumping to your defense. He thinks I was staying quiet to give him the opportunity to play the hero.”

Meriel nodded with satisfaction. “I told you he would not rally to my defense if he thought for one moment he was being manipulated. Whenever Craig thinks his actions are part of some master plan, he does the exact opposite of what is desired. It was his honor that forced him to order her to leave.”

“Hopefully that theory of yours remains true. If it does, then tonight proved that you have a very good, almost frightening understanding of my brother-in-law.”

Meriel bit her bottom lip. “Now everything depends on this coming Friday and Saturday.”

“Are you ready?” Laurel asked, moving to sit down and look Meriel in the eye.

Meriel swallowed, but her hazel eyes were clear and committed. “What you really mean to ask is, can I do it? And the answer is, I have to. I have no other choice. But it will be the hardest thing I have ever had to do.”

“Controlling passion can be difficult. . . .” Laurel sighed. “Honestly? It is not something I have remotely mastered. And unfortunately Conor knows it. Luckily, he has even less ability than I to manage his desires.”

“I only have to control it for a short while. And if I succeed, then I have Saturday night to . . .” Meriel paused and then looked at Laurel questioningly. “How are you going to persuade Hamish to ask me to dine with him? If he doesn’t, then all this will be for—”

Laurel put up her hand, dismissing Meriel’s look of concern, and smiled. “Leave that up to me.”

Meriel bit her bottom lip. “Am I being fair to Hamish? I mean, not telling him everything?”

“He has become a good friend to you.”

Guilt flooded Meriel as she nodded her head. “More so than I ever anticipated. He uses flirtation as a mask to hide who he really is—one of the most generous, kind men I have ever met. He cannot see his own potential and underestimates his abilities as a leader. His friendship means a lot to me and I am wondering if I am being dishonest in not sharing all aspects of what I am trying to do.”

Laurel inclined her head, giving sincere thought to Meriel’s misplaced concern. Laurel had watched Hamish at dinner almost as closely as she had Craig, and his facial expressions were quite mixed. The man was beginning to really care for Meriel, but it was also clear that he was fighting his feelings and did not want Meriel to know. If Hamish continued placing himself in her company, that was his choice. And if Craig wanted to risk Meriel falling for Hamish’s charms, then that was another choice as well.

“No, you are not being dishonest or unfair,” Laurel finally answered. “And I do not answer your question lightly. If Wyenda loved Hamish, it would matter little what you or I thought of her, but she is using him. And even though Hamish may not know all the details of what you are planning, he knows that you are trying to win Craig’s heart, and he has agreed to participate in that endeavor.”

Meriel stood up and hugged Laurel. “I just need a little luck.”

Laurel returned the affectionate embrace and whispered into Meriel’s ear, “Conor always tells me that with a good plan, you need not luck, only the ability to execute it.”

Meriel exhaled.
Conor had never strategized ways to win a heart
, she thought to herself.

Craig drummed his fingers on the table as he sat slumped in his chair, alone in the McTiernay Great Hall. He took a deep breath, and once again mentally reviewed the surprising news he had heard.

He had not seen Meriel since the dinner party. She had looked so forlorn that night, and yet not one time had she looked to him for comfort, support, or understanding. Right after Wyenda had launched her final assault, he had been trying to quickly devise a plan to whisk Meriel away, but before he knew it, the other guests were surrounding her, giving her the kind of support she used to seek from him. Sensing her need to flee the pitiful stares of the group, Craig was again seconds from intervening with the intention of escorting her far from the mob, when his sister-in-law announced that she was going to take Meriel back to her room. Forced to accept the delegated role of host, he could only watch as Laurel comforted Meriel in his stead.

Then he had waited.

For two full days he had been waiting, staying close to McTiernay Castle, making sure Meriel knew his whereabouts at all times. But not once did she ask for him. She had requested to see Laurel and Maegan—even Brenna—but not him, and thankfully not Hamish.

This morning, he had decided to give her one more day to sort out her thoughts and feelings only to discover how wrong he had been about her fragile emotional state. He had returned to the Lower Hall to fetch something he had left behind, when he chanced upon Fallon and the housekeeper, Glynis, discussing how one of the rooms in the Warden’s Tower needed to be cleaned by midafternoon. Craig suspected he knew why, but it had still been somewhat of a jolt to learn that Meriel had scheduled a meeting with Hamish for a final fitting.

Jealousy had seized him, but only for a moment. The explosive anger had sprung upon him so quickly it had taken a few minutes to recognize the irrational response and suppress it. Being jealous was a waste of energy. Besides, had not Meriel invited him to join her and Hamish? Granted, the invitation had been issued before the disastrous dinner, but it had not been rescinded, and Craig saw no reason why he should not attend. Consequently, he had immediately sent word to Meriel that he had decided to accept.

Then he had gone to prepare himself in the Great Hall for the various means Meriel would cleverly employ to pull him away from the castle grounds once again. He waited for the emergencies, the pleas, Fallon’s delivery of unexpected chieftain duties—but none came. The noon meal had been prepared, served, and removed. Still nothing. It was now afternoon and Craig was still in position to join Hamish and Meriel. It did not make sense. Previously, every attempt to make him jealous had stemmed from his wondering what was happening between her and Hamish.

Craig’s drumming fingers paused in mid-tap as his last image of them together came to mind. Honest pain had been swimming in Meriel’s eyes when Hamish’s arm had curved around Wyenda’s waist as they left the room. Was it possible Meriel had become attracted to Hamish? Her earlier claims of possibly falling in love with him had initially sounded preposterous, but suddenly Craig wondered if, in the process of trying to win
him
, she had discovered she actually liked
Hamish
. The possibility was slim, but it was also unnervingly reasonable.

Immediately, Craig rose from his chair and left the Great Hall, heading toward the Warden’s Tower. It was still early, but when Hamish arrived, Craig intended to already be there. The three of them would enjoy the afternoon, talk about essentially nothing, and they would part with no future meetings planned—at least not between her and Hamish.

Then tonight Craig fully intended to resume his and Meriel’s nightly discussions. If she did not come to visit with him, then he would come to her. If Meriel felt he had failed her the other night, he would explain how honestly enraged and close to violence he had been. Problem solved.

Craig stepped inside the tower and began to make his way up the spiraling staircase. He had not even reached the second turn when he could hear Meriel’s laughter. The infectious sound was like no other and it warmed his heart. He sent a silent thank-you to Brenna for keeping Meriel entertained.

Taking two steps at a time, he bounded up to the second floor while simultaneously coming up with two or three ideas that would induce his little niece to leave and give him some time alone with Meriel. He approached the wide-open door expecting to see a young girl with a mass of pale blond curls, but instead his eyes landed on Hamish, who stood in the middle of the room, half dressed, wearing only his kilt and pieces of an unfinished leine. Next to him was Meriel, who was looking particularly beautiful. The dark green gown she was wearing was one of his favorites, accentuating her small waist and feminine curves. She had pulled the sides of her hair into a braid, leaving the wealth of her tawny locks tumbling down her back.

Spying Craig at the door, Meriel’s eyes grew large. “
Dia dhuit!
We were expecting you awhile ago.”

Hamish twisted his head and grinned. “Come on in, Craig! I need someone to run for help if I begin to bleed to death from being poked with a needle.”

Meriel glared up at Hamish, but anger was not what sparkled in the green and gold depths. “I
barely
pricked you
once
. But I suspect it will happen again if you don’t stop moving,” she said as she slowly slipped one sleeve up his arm until it met the seam of the shirt.

“Ouch!” Hamish barked. “And before you dare think to tease me,” he called out to Craig, “you should know that everything I am wearing from the waist up is riddled with lethal pins.”

Meriel rolled her eyes and began to slide on the second sleeve, this time not so carefully. “And I thought you soldiers were supposed to be tough. It must be awfully loud on the training field with all you men squealing every time you get nicked with a weapon.”

“Highlanders do not squeal,” Hamish denied. “Tell her, Craig!”

Craig stood dumbfounded. He was not sure what he thought transpired during Hamish’s and Meriel’s time together, but this was not what he had envisioned. Before Craig could affirm the fact that McTiernay soldiers most certainly did not squeal, Meriel tugged a piece of the partial shirt. Hamish let go a yelp and instinctively pulled back, only to be poked once more. Meriel looked up at the recoiling man before her and arched a brow. “I know one Highlander who squeals.”

“Well,
men
don’t pull chest hairs! Your pins do!” Hamish argued. “Go wrench one out of Craig’s chest and let’s see how he reacts.”

Meriel’s eyes flew to Craig. There was a mischievous look in her hazel gaze, as if she was contemplating Hamish’s dare, but Craig’s thoughts were consumed with the realization that the type of relationship Hamish and Meriel had was eerily familiar. They enjoyed each other’s company and they were obviously quite comfortable with one another. Almost too comfortable. And if Craig had not been certain that Meriel’s and Hamish’s friendship was about to come to an abrupt end, he might not have been able to remain calm. But any day now Conor would return home, and once Craig had divested himself of his brotherly duties, he fully intended to depart
with Meriel
for Caireoch Castle.

Forcing his mouth into a smile, Craig sauntered into the room. He was heading for a chair when he realized that his chest actually was in real danger of being plucked. Just in time, he outstretched his arm to keep Meriel at a safe distance and pointed his finger at her. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, and immediately sought out the nearby chair and sat down, crossing one leg so that his right ankle rested on his left knee.

He sat back to relax, and was thinking the room was much more comfortable than he remembered, when he grasped the reason why. Furrowing his brow, Craig looked down, confirming what he already knew to be true. The Great Hall’s padded chairs had been commissioned by his father and were prized possessions of the McTiernay household. So valued that each of the brothers had managed to procure one or two for his room before the thievery had been put to a sudden and near violent end. “Just where did this chair come from?” Craig snapped at no one in particular.

Unaffected, Meriel focused her attention on Hamish’s leine and said, “I had someone bring one up from the Great Hall. The cross-frame chairs in here were far too uncomfortable.”

Craig snorted. “You’re lucky I learned of this before Conor did. You thought he was mad last year when you ordered all those rushes? He would explode upon learning this.”

“Your brother gets angry at anything. I don’t know why a missing chair would be any different.” Meriel sighed, completely unfazed at the idea of Conor getting angry. Seeing Craig’s growing distress at her lack of concern, Meriel shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “Fine. When we are finished today, you and Hamish can haul it back down to where it belongs.”

Unable to do anything but agree with the suggestion, Craig leaned back in the chair, but his brow remained furrowed. He considered explaining how these chairs were luxuries most Highland clans knew nothing of, but he knew Meriel would not understand. Before she was even born, her father had sat in them and decided that his pride required that he own such grand furniture. As a result, Meriel had never known life without their comfort.

Meriel accidentally tugged on another one of Hamish’s hairs, this time under his arm. Unable to stop himself, he let go another squeak, capturing Craig’s attention. With both sleeves on, Meriel had shifted to work on the front of the shirt.

Another man’s physique was not something Craig typically contemplated, but seeing Meriel so close to Hamish’s chest, he could think of nothing else. It was bad enough that Hamish had massive shoulders and a broad, muscular torso, but it was sprinkled with just the amount of hair women preferred. In Craig’s experience, his friend fit the ideal image women sought in a man. Meriel was not exactly fondling Hamish, but her fingers, pinning the material, were coming close to it.

Tension was gathering throughout Craig’s body. To keep from making a fool of himself, he was about to order Meriel to stop all physical contact when she returned her attentions to the sleeve on Hamish’s arm. Folding the end until it was at the correct length, she pinned it in place. Anticipating another poke, Hamish jerked. Meriel rolled her eyes and glanced behind her. “You should try plucking your enemy’s hairs the next time you lead men into battle, Craig. After one encounter, your adversaries would run in fear every time they saw you.”

The absurdity of the idea made Hamish chuckle, causing his body to twitch. This triggered cackles in Craig, which spawned unrestrained laughter in Meriel. Unable to stop himself, Hamish joined her, causing Craig and Meriel to laugh even harder. Fighting for air, Meriel punched Craig on the arm as if it was all his fault that she was doubled over in pain.

“Would not work,” Craig finally managed to get out. “Most Highlanders are not as delicate as Hamish here.”

“I may be delicate, but I am also brave,” Hamish grunted, “unless, of course, you too are going to request a new kilt and leine.”

Craig threw up his hands in the air and then intertwined them behind his head as he stretched out. “I would, but I doubt there will be enough time before Conor returns.”

Taking a deep breath and wiping away a tear, Meriel shifted to work on Hamish’s other sleeve, bringing her backside within arm’s reach of Craig. She carefully folded the second sleeve as she had the other. Then she reached down toward the pin cushion on the floor, but instead of getting a pin, her hand flew to Craig’s exposed calf and gave a quick yank to a couple of his hairs.

Instantly, Craig jumped out of his chair. “That hurt!” he bellowed before he could stop himself.

The smile that erupted on Meriel’s face almost made the mistake worth it. “I prove my point.
All
Highlander men are delicate.”

Craig’s leg burned, but the pain was a balm to his soul. Suddenly all was right with his world. Meriel was teasing him as she used to and he had yet to witness any sexual tension between her and Hamish. A sense of peace enveloped him, something he had not felt in days.

“And you,” Meriel said, nudging Hamish with her knuckle, “had not yet answered my question when Craig walked in.”

Hamish inhaled deeply and gave Craig a look that implored him to help. Unfortunately, Craig had no idea what her question was. With a shrug of his shoulders, he sat back down.

“That is because you have not answered mine,” Hamish countered.

Taking the last pin out of her mouth, she said, “I would, but I do not think Wyenda would approve.” Meriel pinned the sleeve. “I’m done! All I have to do is get this thing off of you and you will be free from further torment.”

Hamish gave her a wink. “Except for a few missing hairs, I shall miss these afternoons. And I am not inviting Wyenda to dinner. I am inviting
you
. She did not make me these clothes, you did. And you need to let me say thank you.”

Craig blinked and forced his body to remain still as his mind whirred. Had he heard Hamish correctly?

“I already told you, Hamish,” Meriel began as she slipped her hand between his skin and the material to keep it from poking him as she removed the sleeve, “it is not necessary.”

“But it is. You made me not one but two kilts, and today you have cut and pieced together a second leine. That requires more than just spoken appreciation. Do you not agree, Craig?”

Craig was vaguely aware of Hamish’s question. He was watching how once again Meriel was protecting his friend from any potential pricks by sliding her hand up the shirtsleeve as she removed the item. He knew that in her mind it was not a caress, but Craig was altogether aware of what any man would be thinking under the circumstances. And by Hamish’s broken, raspy tone, his friend was absolutely aware of her touch.