Taming the Highlander Page 3

  Bryce’s first wife had stayed in those rooms, in the older section of Girnigoe. Innes was happy that her sister didn’t have to battle memories of an old marriage in her new chambers. She leaned out the open window, looking down at the roaring sea.

  “Not so far, if you please. That height worries me.”

  “Aye, good reason to be worried,” Innes replied. “Perhaps there should be a bar across these windows.”

  “They say it was an accident.”

  “So I understand.”

  “I asked his aunt about it. I had to know how his first wife died, and Wynda told me what happened.”

  “I heard the tale. It was a stormy day this past winter, just after Samhain. They say she somehow slipped at the window and fell from the top floor of the East Tower. They found her body at the base of the cliffs. Her chambers were just above where you dressed for the ceremony.” Innes paused. “And Bryce was away from Girnigoe when it happened.”

  Ailein stared at her. “So you touched his hand. That’s how you know.”

  “Nay. I didn’t. I told you before that I wouldn’t. I asked questions, like you. That’s the proper way one gets answers.”

  She moved to another window, one overlooking the courtyard. Over the years, Innes had witnessed the damage she’d done to Ailein by making all the decisions, giving her all the answers.

  Ailein’s life resembled that of a bairn practicing the steps but never actually walking on her own two feet. Always protected. She had no bumps or bruises, no heartbreak she ever had to deal with. Twenty-one years of age and she’d never done anything but rely on Innes to tell her what to do, whom to trust, where to go. This never-ending cycle undermined the younger woman’s confidence in herself, in her judgment. Innes knew. She’d played the same game with her own life when she was younger. That was why she was alone.

  Bryce Sinclair was a good match. The two had to make their marriage work without any ethereal interference.

  “You would not leave in the morning without seeing me?” asked Ailein.

  “Are you forgetting the wedding night traditions?” Innes was sorry she mentioned it as her sister’s face turned a deep shade of red.

  “How can I forget? The Sinclairs will be wanting evidence that I’m the maiden our father promised them. You and the Munros won’t be leaving until Bryce and his clan are satisfied.”

  It was barbaric, but tradition was tradition. Innes was relieved that Jinny was the one who had to do all the explaining to her sister.

  Ailein hugged her middle and glanced warily at the large bed. “What happens if I don’t bleed?”

  “I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure Bryce will know how to handle everything.”

  “He should. He married his first wife Shona little more than a year ago.”

  Innes recognized her sister’s sharp tone. Ailein was rummaging around for a fight. She got this way when she was nervous or things weren’t going the way she wished them. Innes hoped some solitary time would calm her.

  “It’s time for me to leave you.” She pulled on her gloves.

  Ailein looked up in panic. “Do you have to? Can’t you wait with me until he comes?”

  “Absolutely not.” Innes backed toward the door. “He should be here very soon. You’re his wife, but you’re also a Munro, the daughter of a baron. In the eyes of the world, you are his equal. Remember that.”

  “Oh, Innes!”

  “You’ll do well here among the Sinclairs. They are good people. He appears to be a good man.” Her voice turned husky with emotion. “You no longer need me.”

  The tears had a mind of their own, but she left the room before her sister could see them.

  Moonlight flooded the rolling moors, and the starry sky was cloudless. A perfect night to travel.

  Waiting for Duff to bring out his horse, Conall glanced around for his companion, Thunder. No sign of him, but Conall wasn’t worried. Thunder always turned up.

  “You were here all day, and still you couldn’t stand up with your brother.”

  Conall turned to see his aunt emerge from the shadows.

  “I’ve decided to make a habit of missing Bryce’s weddings,” he said.

  Their father’s sister Wynda had moved back to Girnigoe when Conall’s mother died. Wynda raised them and was as much a mother to them as their own had been. He studied the older woman. Even by moonlight, he could see the lines in her face that grew deeper with each passing season. Conall knew much of the preparation of this week’s festivities had fallen on Wynda’s shoulders.

  “You look exhausted, Aunt. Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “I had to come and see you before you went off.”

  A brisk breeze blew in off the sea. He reached over and adjusted the shawl she wore over her dark dress.

  “This one was much better, Conall,” she continued. “Your brother has done well for himself. Ailein is nothing like the last wife.”

  “There could only be one Shona.”

  Wynda studied him in silence for a moment. “I wish you had come, if only just to meet the sister.”

  “Innes?”

  “You know her?” she replied, surprised.

  Know was too strong a word, he thought. He recalled the woman he’d watched in the gallery. The one he’d held briefly on the staircase. He didn’t know her, but she definitely had his attention, and those brief moments continued to linger in his mind.

  Good enough reason for leaving.

  He caught his aunt staring at him. “All right. Out with it. Why would you want me to meet the sister?”

  “No reason.” A rare smile broke on Wynda’s lips. “Innes is different. Odd in some ways. Intelligent and unafraid to voice her opinion. I believe she enjoys her reputation of being difficult.”

  “Difficult? And why would you wish such a thing on me?”

  “Birds of the feather.”

  Duff led Conall’s horse out the stable door, saving him from continuing this conversation.

  “Well, no chance of that happening,” Conall said. “I understand the Munros are leaving tomorrow. And I plan to be away for quite a while.”

  France, perhaps. Innes heard that the mountains in the west of France had birds that were never seen in Scotland. That might be just the place for her. The time had come for change, she thought, looking out at the moon now high above the castle ramparts.

  For a few years now, Innes had imagined that when her sister finally married, she’d be able to establish her own daily regimen, or lack of it. Of course, as long as she was at home, her stepmother would be an obstacle. Margaret, only a few years older than Innes, was a creature of habit, schedules, and decorum. And everything about Innes was disruptive.

  No, it was now time to pursue a different path. Her father had Margaret, his sons, the affairs of the clan to see to. She would travel. It was 1544. The Spanish had discovered a new world. The Portuguese were sailing around Africa to trade with the East. The world was opening up.

  She’d already told her father that she wanted to go. She wanted to see something of that world and then, possibly, settle down in some convent in a quiet part of Scotland. So far, Hector Munro wouldn’t discuss it, but at least he’d given up on the idea of marrying her off. Perhaps once they returned home, she could raise the topic with him again.

  Innes drifted back to the table where she’d been working on a charcoal drawing of Folais Castle. A parting gift for her sister. It should have been finished long ago. But it wasn’t.

  These drawings were her greatest pleasure. When she was young, she drew only on slate or pieces of wood, but German merchant ships now carried crates of paper from their mills. She treasured her store of it and used it sparingly.

  She pulled out the other sketch, the one she’d drawn quickly tonight, trying to clear her mind of the disturbing image branded in her brain. She shivered as she gazed at the picture, recalling those bodies left to rot on the battlefield. Dark strokes were a pale imitation of the pools of blood. The men’s faces wer
e a gray blur, but their cries still rang in her ear.

  Conall Sinclair. She doubted anyone ever had a clearer look into the earl’s soul than she had today. No wonder that he had become a recluse. At the church and in the Great Hall afterwards, she’d scanned the gathered throng, hoping that he’d be there. But he hadn’t shown up.

  Wars and warriors. She never fathomed the brutality that humans exposed their own kind to. To pay the price for power by killing.

  In the courtyard below her window, two drunken revelers from the wedding celebration wandered by, bellowing passages from The Wallace at the top of their voices. Innes listened as they passed by, each one embellishing on the poem in an effort to outdo the other. And the glory of wars lived on for future generations.

  Innes stared at her drawing, at the severed hand lying in the grass. She’d stood in his memory. That anguished roar, as they dragged him from the battlefield, wasn’t for the loss of a limb. That cry was for the loss of freedom.

  She closed her eyes. She tried to think of something else—a better memory to take away from Girnigoe. Conall Sinclair had been in the gallery last night. He’d watched her. He knew she existed.

  A soft tap on the door put a quick end to her folly. Innes pushed the drawing under the others and looked over. There was a second knock.

  It was very late. Except for the two drunken revelers, the wedding celebration—with its shouts and pipers and singing—had died down some time ago. She wondered if perhaps one of her young brothers next door had awakened.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Open the door.”

  At the sound of Ailein’s voice, Innes’s heart dropped in her chest. She unlatched the door, and her sister, wrapped in a dark cloak, slipped inside.

  “What are you doing here?” Innes looked out before closing and latching the door.

  Ailein moved to the window and peered for a moment into the darkness. “I didn’t want to be seen. Not that I care. But for the sake of propriety, I suppose it’s better if the Sinclairs don’t know I’m spending my wedding night in my sister’s bedchamber.”

  Even in the dim light, Innes saw Ailein had been crying.

  “What happened? What did he do to you?” she asked, suddenly furious that the Sinclair might have hurt her sister. And on their wedding night! It was her fault, she thought. She should have protected her sister.

  “He did nothing,” Ailein responded quickly, putting up a hand to stop Innes from coming to her. “Nothing happened. He became angry because of a gift someone left for me. It was ridiculous. So, I threw him out. I told him he would not be sleeping with me until his manners improved.”

  Innes stared at her sister for a heartbeat, then decided this couldn’t be all of it. She started toward her.

  “Don’t. I’m telling you the truth. He didn’t touch me.” Ailein dropped the cloak on a chair and pushed up the sleeves of a robe she wore over her nightgown. “When he got angry, he stopped talking. Everything just became . . . business. So I got upset. I was angry. I wanted him to explain. But he wouldn’t.”

  Ailein had wanted a fight, or at least a good argument. Innes had seen signs of it before she left. This was what her sister was accustomed to. Looking at her storming about the room now, Innes decided Bryce had done nothing to damage her sister’s fiery spirit.

  “What was this gift he was so upset about?”

  “The brooch I had on.”

  “I saw it. It was lovely. It looked like a family heirloom.”

  “Perhaps it was.” Ailein waved a hand in the air and started pacing the room. “But I’m not a simpleton. The brooch must have belonged to his first wife. And I have no idea who put it there for me.”

  “It sounds as if this is easily resolved. If it wasn’t Bryce, then it had to be Wynda or—”

  “It doesn’t matter. What upsets me most is that he went from ordering me to take it off to lecturing me about my duty and his duty. It was upsetting. And he says he’s keeping separate chambers! Our time together will be for one purpose only. And I should expect nothing more. It’s all just a sham. My marriage is a fraud!” Ailein stopped and faced her. “That was all I could take. I told him he had to leave.”

  “And he left?” Innes needed to make sure.

  “Oh, he tried to look threatening, but I wasn’t having any of that. So in the end he just yanked the sheet from the bed and stomped out.”

  “The sheet,” Innes repeated. She was relieved that Bryce Sinclair was not some brute who would force his wife against her wishes. There were more than a few of those around.

  “Aye. I found it spotted with blood outside of my bedroom door. There it lay, for anyone to see it,” she said angrily. “My maidenhead, my lost virtue, on display.”

  “But your virtue wasn’t lost. Was it his own blood on it?”

  “I suppose so, but for all I care he might have cut his own throat. And you wouldn’t believe how much blood! Like I was a stuck pig. It was right out there in the open. His manly badge of honor.” She moved off to the window, muttering words of violence under her breath.

  “Ailein, listen to me now. You need to understand this. He did you a favor.”

  “He did no such thing.”

  “Think it through. Where would we be if everyone knew that you refused your husband on your wedding night?”

  “Everyone can go pound sand!”

  “Nay. I don’t mean to sound callous, but this is clan business.”

  “You sound like him.”

  “Of course it’s not just business, but there were agreements made.”

  Ailein glared at her.

  “Bryce covered your tracks for you,” Innes continued. “Protected you. So now—as far as everyone is concerned—you’re his wife. Whatever argument you have with him, it’s only between you two to sort out. The clans will have no part in it.”

  Hands clenched at her sides, Ailein stamped her foot. She stared at the door, trying to restrain her temper. “I told him I’d stay. But I think I gave in too much. I want to go home.”

  “Ailein,” Innes remonstrated. “You are showing less sense than a child.”

  Ailein sent her a hurt look. “I know I’m already married. And I really don’t want to go. I just want him to go back to being the man who courted me. I would have been fine if he’d just been civil. Just talked to me.”

  Innes sank down on the edge of the bed. This was the newlyweds’ first argument. And knowing Ailein, it wouldn’t be the last, by any stretch of the imagination. She actually felt a twinge of sympathy for Bryce. She was certain the Sinclair had no idea of the strength of his wife’s temperament until tonight.

  “He probably had too much ale or wine. I can’t tell you how many times they toasted his health and yours. He’ll be back to himself tomorrow.”

  “What if he isn’t? As you say, everyone thinks we’ve consummated this marriage. You’ll all be gone, and I’ll be left here with no one.”

  “You’re married. You want this to work. So tomorrow night, you pick up where you left off today. You work through your trouble. This is your new home, my love.”

  Ailein shook her head doubtfully, then sat next to Innes on the bed. “I’ll stay if you stay.”

  “That’s impossible.” Innes shook her head. “I’m going back to Folais Castle.”

  “It’s not impossible. Stay for just a short time. For a month. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “This is your life now, Ailein. There is nothing I can do to help you or improve your relationship with your husband.”

  “A fortnight, then. That’s all. Please, Innes.” Ailein threw her arms around her. “With you here, it will all work out. I’m certain of it.”

  An unexpected image took shape in her mind. Conall Sinclair. Innes pushed it away.

  “This is a mistake. I’m telling you. With me here, you’ll have someone to run to every time you have a disagreement with him.”

  “I won’t come running. I promise. I want you here because I love
you. You’re my sister. A fortnight. Please, Innes. Do this for me.”

  Chapter 4

  “Here begins a short treatise on the history of the Wheel of Lugh, writ down for the edification of ignorant and sinful wretches, wherein they may learn of our sovereign Savior Christ Jhesu, who sheds His Light and His Goodness and His Power on us in ways his people can little understand. This narrative being the truly spoken words of Ian Wallace, as told to Gilchrist Scribe, in this year anno Domini 1494.

  “This is my true understanding of the Wheel of Lugh, of where it came from, and how it came to be broken into four, and where the fragments of the Wheel have gone, and of a terrible power that can belong only to a true High King, Lord save us all.

  “I undertake to have all this chronicle writ down now to preserve what I know. Plague rides on the wind across my beloved land, and folk are dying all about me. I fear that I too shall be struck down and rendered unable to keep my vow. I shall be unable to pass on the history of the Wheel and my fragment which, through the grace of the Lord and Lugh his warrior king, gives me a knowledge of the past that no other man possesses.

  “And so this history begins . . .”

  From the Chronicle of Lugh

  “So, what are you trying to do?” Innes muttered to herself as she walked. “Stay here forever? Grow old here? Die and be buried here?”

  The fortnight she promised Ailein had passed, but the newlyweds seemed no closer to resolving their problems. So, she allowed herself to be persuaded to extend her stay for another sennight. The two behaved perfectly well whenever they were in public, but Innes knew that Bryce continued to avoid his wife’s bed.

  He’s a laird, Innes thought. And he’s a man. All that’s needed, in all likelihood, is an apology. When she suggested that to her sister, Ailein countered that she’d do a penance of a thousand Ave Marias before admitting she did anything wrong.

  Two pigheaded people, locked in a standoff.

  Pushing her cloak over one shoulder as she walked the hard ground, Innes admitted that the living arrangements here were better than she had at home. After the wedding guests left, she moved to the second floor chamber in the East Tower—the same rooms where her sister had dressed for the ceremony. Here in the Inner Ward she was a bit removed from the bustle of daily activity in the castle’s newer Outer Ward. And as the sole occupant in that building, she was free to come and go, and to keep her own schedule as she pleased.