Taming the Highlander Page 2

  The chapel stood in the original section of castle the Sinclairs now called the Inner Ward. Over the past two decades, the clan had added two more sections to the clan seat. The Outer Ward, with its North Tower, held the new Great Hall, laird’s quarters, gallery, and kitchens. Beyond it, a bridge led to a walled stable and a West Tower.

  Innes was satisfied. She couldn’t have found a more secure home for her sister. With its impenetrable gray walls, high towers, and the surrounding sea, Castle Girnigoe was beyond impressive.

  She was happy for Ailein. This was a perfect place to live, to start a new life. Her gaze was drawn to Bryce, standing alone on the steps of the chapel. She wondered if the earl of Caithness would make his appearance.

  “Couldn’t you change into something more appropriate, at least for today?” her stepmother urged, interrupting her thoughts. “There’s still time, and this is a celebration. You shouldn’t be wearing black.”

  “I’ll wear what I please,” Innes said curtly.

  “And you’re fine with this, Hector? Your daughter, wearing black at her own sister’s wedding?”

  “What business is it of mine what she wears?” the Munro clan chief replied. “She’s a grown woman. Leave her be. She knows what she’s about.”

  Her stepmother was not ready to give up. “But why, Innes? Today of all days should be an exception. Ailein is the only one that you care a fish egg about anyway.”

  “How many times does she have to tell you?” Hector intervened. “She wears black because she is in mourning.”

  “Mourning?”

  “Aye, for the death of innocence in the world.”

  “By the Virgin, man, and you encourage her by repeating that nonsense?”

  Innes stopped listening, looking past her stepmother and her father. She focused on the windows halfway up the East Tower.

  What could be keeping Ailein? The last time she’d checked, the women of the household were bustling about the bride with the efficiency of a small army, and Jinny was ordering them about like a warrior chief. Come hell or high water, her sister would be suitably dressed, adorned, and standing at noon at the chapel doors.

  A movement drew Innes’s gaze upward. A dark shape moved in a window above her sister’s chambers. Another outsider, she thought, watching the events of life without taking part. She understood that all too keenly.

  A young woman’s anxious voice broke in. “I am so relieved to find you, mistress.”

  Innes glanced at her and then looked up again. The shadow in the window was still there.

  “Lady Ailein is in a state,” continued the serving woman. “She sent us all away, and Jinny said to search you out and bring you back as soon as I found you.”

  Innes allowed the young servant to lead the way. “Tell me. Who is staying in the upper chambers above my sister?”

  The woman glanced back, her eyes wide. “No one, mistress. The upper chambers are shut and locked.”

  “Locked, you say?” Innes asked, looking up. The shadowy figure was gone.

  “Aye, mistress. It’s been that way for months now.”

  Distant, quiet, observing rather than participating, Conall thought.

  Innes Munro was the only interesting fish in that sea of guests. Eying the black dress, he shook his head. That’s not quite right, he mused. She was more like a raven in a flower garden. A rebel. A presence.

  Innes looked up and he thought she might have seen him. He backed away from the window and turned around, his eyes surveying Shona’s room.

  Bryce had been at Conall’s door at dawn, again insisting that he at least show up for the marriage ceremony. To get rid of him, he promised to think about it.

  He had thought about it. He still wasn’t going. But he wasn’t leaving Castle Girnigoe until he found what he came up here for.

  Conall glanced for a moment at the large window from which Shona fell to her death on the cliffs this past winter. He frowned and walked to the dresser, searching for the brooch. It had belonged to his mother. He had given it to Shona before he left, thinking she would become his wife when he returned.

  But his life had gone down a different path.

  They reached the East Tower and the woman stepped aside to let her pass.

  Innes moved from the bright spring sunlight of the courtyard into the damp darkness of the tower house stairwell. She started up the stone steps.

  Her sister should be on her way to the chapel now, Innes thought. It did not bode well that she was sending out the very women tasked with preparing her for the ceremony. She frowned.

  “Nay, Ailein,” she murmured. “I know what you want, and I’m not doing it. Not this time.”

  Reaching the landing, Innes pushed open the door without bothering to knock.

  Jinny threw her hands up and sighed with relief. “Praise be. You’ve come.”

  Innes had known Jinny since the woman came to look after her and Ailein when their mother died. Seeing now the frustration in the lined face, she shook her head. After all the years of service to their family, Jinny knew the two sisters well enough not to be bullied by a mere outburst of temper.

  Ailein lay on the bed sobbing, her head buried in a pillow. She raised a tearstained face at the sound of Innes’s entrance.

  “I’m not marrying him. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I see.” Innes peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into the sash at her waist. She motioned toward the small adjoining room. “Can you give us a few moments alone, Jinny?”

  “Aye, with pleasure,” the older woman barked. “But she’s supposed to be down at the chapel shortly. And with all this thrashing about on the bed, you can see her hair is a mess and the dress is now wrinkled and I don’t know how I can possibly get her ready in time. She’ll be shaming us all. Aye, lassie, I’m talking about you.”

  Glaring fiercely at her charge, Jinny stalked toward the other room.

  “You’ll do magic. I’m certain of it,” Innes said quietly, closing the heavy wood door and leaning her back against it. She looked at her sister, who’d again buried her head in the pillow.

  At the age of twenty-one, Ailein was like the heather in early autumn, ready to burst into flower. No Highland clan could boast a woman of greater beauty. With her deep red hair cascading to her waist and the slant of her large gray eyes and the upturned nose dusted with pale freckles, she could turn a man’s head at the far end of any great hall. She was the pride of the Munros. And on top of it all, she came with a sizable dowry. As a result, for several years Ailein had attracted a line of suitors that stretched from Folais Castle to Edinburgh itself.

  Innes had been at her sister’s side for every first meeting. It was a mistake. Naturally, Innes read their lives like an open book. Like looking at the pebbles at the bottom of a clear mountain stream, she saw every flaw and mistake that colored their past. Men lied. Men cheated. No surprise. When a man wanted something badly enough, what he said and what he thought were often as different as night and day. Innes told her sister the truth about each man’s past. That was all it took. Ailein made sure that they never came back.

  Then, some three years later, Innes realized that she was robbing Ailein of any chance of married life. She’d made her own choice when it came to turning down the handful of suitors who’d come for her hand years earlier, but Ailein needed to take a chance.

  Enough was enough. Her sister’s weak-kneed reaction to Bryce Sinclair, the strapping young laird of Castle Girnigoe, was all the encouragement she needed. Innes decided to let them be.

  Silence hung in the air. A head of tousled, red hair lifted from the pillow, and the young woman’s tearful gaze turned to her.

  “Please, Innes. Please do it for me. Take hold of his hand. Tell me what it is I’m getting myself into.”

  “I am no fortune teller.” Innes approached the bed. “Get up. Right now. This moment.”

  Ailein rolled out of her reach to the other side. “How do I know if he’s the right man for me? I have
no idea how he feels. What he thinks. What if he’s marrying me only for the dowry? What if he’s still in love with his first wife?”

  Innes lifted the mattress and her sister rolled off, landing with a thud on the floor. Her flushed face reappeared above the bedclothes.

  “Ouch. That hurt, you know. What did you do that for? Sometimes you can be so cruel.”

  “Aye, cruel as the winter wind. Remember that. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

  “I never said I wanted to.” Ailein stood up, her hands on her hips. “I’m not asking you for any more than what you’ve always done.”

  “Nay, you’re asking for much more. This is no first meeting. This is your wedding day. This is Girnigoe, their clan seat. The Sinclairs, the Munros, and a hundred guests are waiting for you and Bryce to exchange your vows. Our father is already at the chapel steps, waiting to give you away.”

  “I’m not married yet. It’s not too late.”

  Innes fought the inclination to raise her voice and order her sister about. She knew where that would end. As sweet as Ailein appeared to others, they had the same iron will.

  Innes took a deep breath and started again. “Think this through. You love Bryce. You told me that a hundred times.”

  “I think I love him. I might be wrong.”

  “Every time you’ve seen him, he’s been courteous, charming, attentive.”

  Ailein shrugged. “To me and you and the other Munros who kept a close eye on us.”

  “Well, that’s a good start in any marriage. You already have a foundation.”

  “How do you know what’s a good foundation?” she snapped. “You’ve never been married.”

  “Nay. I’ve never been married, as you well know. I’ve never been wooed before, either. And I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never been asked for my hand in marriage. And I will never share a man’s bed or have children of my own. And no one will ever love me. And when the winter of life sets in, I’ll have no memories of my own to think back on and keep me company. If I live so long.” She looked into her sister’s eyes. “And is this what you want for your life?”

  Ailein stared at her for a moment and then batted away fresh tears. She shook her head and rushed across the chamber to hug Innes.

  Cradling her sister’s face, Innes looked into her soul at the fears and the insecurity Ailein was feeling about marrying this man. Bryce Sinclair was a man with much more experience. He was a widower who had lost his wife tragically. But Innes also saw the hope and love that her sister felt right up to this moment.

  “I do love you, Innes,” said Ailein. “I always will. And you can come and stay here with me any time you want. We’ll force Father to let you come, if that’s what it takes.”

  Her sister’s surging emotions silenced Innes. Ailein had said what was in her heart. The truth.

  It was a sad fact that no one could see into Innes’s heart. The words she’d said—about herself, about her life, about her future—bled her inside.

  “Very well, then,” she said. “Sit in that chair. I’ll get Jinny.”

  The extra hands were all assembled in the adjoining room A few minutes later, excitement again filled the chamber. Ailein sat, and stood, and stepped into layers of dress and had her hair pulled, piled, and pinned. She smiled through it all.

  Innes was happy for her sister, but at the same time, she ached at the loss of her. All of their routines and arguments and companionship were ending today. Tomorrow she’d return with her father and his wife and their children to Folais Castle.

  Ailein now had her own life. Her husband. Her new clan. They would always be sisters but this marriage divided them, sending them down separate paths.

  As emotions threatened to overwhelm her, Innes quietly slipped out of the room onto the dark landing.

  Taking a few deep breaths, she forced herself to bury those raw feelings, donning once again the hard, impenetrable cloak she wore in public. This was the way her sister’s new family would see her today—brusque, confident, in charge. And in the main, she was happy with the life she had. No regrets.

  She pulled the gloves from her sash and started down the stairs.

  Halfway down, her foot slipped on the edge of a step, and she pitched forward. She dropped her gloves, her hands flailing for anything to grab. Her foot barely touched the next stair as she hurtled forward into the darkness. She braced herself, knowing her head and face were about to strike stone.

  Suddenly, she was plucked from the air. One moment she was falling uncontrollably, and the next she was righted and placed on her own two feet. Her knees buckled.

  He pushed her against the wall and, in the dim light, she saw the man who had caught her was missing his right hand. He was broad across the chest and very tall. Her gaze moved from the black shirt he wore beneath his tartan to his face. Wild black hair hung to his shoulders, a full beard framed a swarthy face, and his eyes were dark as a loch at night.

  Truth rooted and blossomed. Her heartbeat increased its rhythm. She knew who he was.

  “You,” she gasped. She’d been hoping to see him, to meet the great Sinclair warrior. But not this way. “You’re the earl of Caithness.”

  “Can you stand?” His voice was deep and harsh. He sounded annoyed with her for inconveniencing him—or maybe for recognizing him. His good hand was on her shoulder, still holding her up.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for catching me.”

  She pushed his hand away, and as she did, her mind melded with his. In a flash of an instant, she was back in the gallery off the Great Hall. It wasn’t the paintings that she saw, but rather Innes herself, through his eyes. He’d been there, watching her.

  Her face grew warm as she looked up into his face. But then the image changed. Her senses filled with the sight and sounds of a battlefield. A gasp escaped her as bloody corpses and the smell of blood and sweat filled her senses. Those still living cried out, filling the air with the pleading voices of the dying . . . and those who wished they were dead. She stared at a severed hand at her feet and a man’s anguished roar blotted out every other sound.

  Innes’s head cleared. She blinked. She was alone.

  The man was gone. The only sound was her heartbeat drumming in her ears, and a piper tuning up in the distance.

  With only a brush of her hand over his wrist, his mind had swept her in. Unprepared, she hadn’t seen, but felt the pain. She’d been there on that battlefield with him.

  And she’d felt his shame.

  She brushed away the beads of sweat on her brow and looked around. No one. No footsteps. Nothing.

  A door opened and closed below.

  She needed light. Air. She had to shake herself free of the horror she’d seen.

  Her gloves lay on the steps. She picked them up and hurried down. Sunlight poured in through the doorway.

  There was no sign of the earl. In the deep shadows at the bottom of the stairs, she noticed another door she hadn’t seen before. It was heavy, with steel bands and studded nails reinforcing the thick wood. A stout timber stood against the wall to secure it on this side.

  She strode to the door and took hold of the handle. As she did, she heard a latch slide into place on the other side.

  She was as light as the wind, as soft as the finest silk. He’d inhaled the fresh scent of sea and salt on her skin. His arm had wrapped around her narrow waist and, for a fleeting moment, his hand had brushed her breast.

  Conall didn’t want to notice Innes Munro. He didn’t want to admit that, up close, she was even more alluring than he’d imagined. He didn’t want any of that, especially after she’d fallen ill at the sight of his missing hand.

  He stared at the latch on the door. He wasn’t attracted to her. He wouldn’t allow it.

  No, his problem was that it had been too long since he’d been with a woman.

  Chapter 3

  They had no need for words. Holding onto Ailein, Innes saw her sister’s struggle to imagine what her life wo
uld be like after she left tomorrow.

  No running to her for advice, Ailein was thinking. No stories to share. No outbursts or arguments. No wandering together along the beaches and through the glens as Innes collected pieces of bird eggs and feathers to add to her collection. No searching on market days through bolts of black fabric to make a new dress.

  “You’re making this harder for both of us.” Ailein tucked the white hair behind Innes’s ear, and drew back.

  This was her sister’s wedding night, thought Innes. She should be happy, excited. Not sad.

  Innes moved around the chamber, her fingers touching the bright decorative ribbons. She fought back her own raw emotions. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t fall apart and make it worse for her sister. She stopped to breathe in the aromatic bouquets of dried rosemary, sage, lavender, and thyme. She inspected the clothes and the gifts scattered around the room, finally stopping by the open window overlooking the bluffs. The moon was rising and the sea glistened brightly. The soft breeze drifted in with the sounds of the sea, caressing her face.

  Ailein was only an infant when their mother died. Six years older, Innes immediately shouldered the responsibility of both mother and sister. Their father had married twice since then, but she never relinquished her position.

  She stole a glance over her shoulder at Ailein, who was pinning an ornate, jeweled brooch to the tartan arranged around her shoulders.

  They were sisters, yet looked nothing alike. Ailein inherited her height and red hair and complexion from their father. Innes was their mother, dark haired, small, and reclusive. But they each had the heart of a lion, especially when it came to protecting those they loved.

  Tears rushed into Innes’s eyes as she realized there would never be moments like this. Not after tomorrow. She looked onto the sea and took a deep breath.

  “This new North Tower. How do you like it?” Ailein asked.

  “It is lovely.”

  “Bryce has been living here, so I chose it over the East Tower.”