Taming the Highlander Read online

  “Easy, monster. I’m happy to see you, too.”

  The wolf circled, jumped, and pulled at Bryce’s boots, doing everything possible to knock the laird down.

  “Control this wild animal.”

  “Thunder,” said Conall. The oversized pup immediately retreated to his place beside Conall’s chair “You’d think he’d be tired after running behind me all day.”

  Conall studied his brother for a long moment. He didn’t like what he saw. Bryce looked weary, wounded. He didn’t seem like a bridegroom floating in the euphoria of wedded bliss.

  “How was Dalnawillan?” Bryce wandered over to the fire and pushed at a log with his boot. The lodge on the windswept moor by Loch Dubh had always been a favorite place for the two of them when they were growing up.

  “Quiet. Just the way I like it.”

  “Did you hunt?”

  Conall shook his head and set down the pitcher of wine and another cup next to the chess set. “Not in the mood.”

  “Did you make your rounds of the tenants? Like I asked?”

  “That’s your job. You’re laird.” He sat down and gestured at the board. Something was bothering his brother, but he would wait for him to bring it up. “You have the first move.”

  “I asked you to do it.”

  “Good for you.” Conall filled the two cups.

  “You’re as ornery as an old bull.”

  “I knew you’d finally catch on.”

  Bryce sat down and eyed the board. “The day of my wedding. You were still here. Why didn’t you come?”

  Conall cocked an eyebrow. His brother should have let that go by now. No, it was something else. “You need to move one of those pieces to begin the game.”

  “You don’t stand beside me, but you leave my wife a gift.” Bryce moved a pawn. “You gave her Shona’s brooch.”

  Conall frowned. This couldn’t be the reason he looked like someone just took his last mutton chop.

  “The brooch was our mother’s,” he said. “It should be worn by the laird’s wife.”

  “Aye, in good time.”

  “I waited until your wedding day to fetch it from Shona’s room. You didn’t do it. So I did it for you.”

  “That brooch was given to you by our mother. You were the one who gave it to Shona. And now to Ailein.”

  Conall picked up his cup of wine and sat back. “And you’ve been stewing about this for the past fortnight?”

  “Nay, but it was our mother’s brooch, and maybe you were a little premature in giving it to my bride.”

  “You have nothing better to do with your time but worry over a wee bit of metal and stone?”

  “Your move.”

  Two years ago, when he was still whole, Conall would have taken the younger man to the training yard and let him vent his frustration. But that was their old life. This was their new.

  And Conall knew Bryce better than he knew himself. This was not what was sticking in his craw. There was still something else.

  “Listen to me,” said Bryce. “I want you to meet my wife. It’s time.”

  “And how is married life?” Conall moved a piece.

  “Why will you never answer a question or carry a coherent conversation?” Bryce slid the next piece into place. “I’d have a more intelligent chat with Thunder.”

  “That you would. I’ve heard you both howl at the moon.” Conall captured a pawn. “Are you two off to a good start with this marriage business?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” Bryce leaned forward and took a black pawn with a flourish.

  “I don’t know. The sister is still here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Conall placed his knight next to his brother’s king. “Because I’ve spoken to her.”

  “You’ve spoken to Innes?” Bryce took the knight with his king, his expression brightening.

  There weren’t many occasions when Conall allowed the other man an upper hand in this game. But every now and then, he had to let it happen or he feared Bryce would quit playing.

  Conall sat back, drinking his wine. “What’s the woman doing, traipsing about in the hills with no escort so late in the evening?”

  “How do I know? She is a grown woman.”

  “And do you allow your wife to wander off in the dark with no one accompanying her?”

  “Of course not,” Bryce told him. “Wynda and Lachlan keep her busy. She’s too tired by the end of the day.”

  “Innes is a Munro. She’s your responsibility while she’s a guest here.”

  “You don’t know her. No one tells her where to go and what to do.” Bryce groaned as Conall’s queen took his knight, putting the king in check.

  “Then ask your wife to do it.”

  Bryce moved his king out of check and stared at the board. “I’m telling you. Innes is bloody independent. She minds no one. She follows no direction but her own.”

  Conall took his time before taking the next piece.

  “What else do you know about her?” he asked vaguely, trying to sound conversational, indifferent.

  “I know the Munro relies more on that daughter than is customary. They say Innes is his most trusted adviser.” Bryce shuffled his piece. “I already told you she was there at his side during the negotiations regarding Ailein’s dowry.”

  “Why does she wear black?”

  “I never asked.”

  “Was she married?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why didn’t she marry? Her dowry should have drawn suitors by the boatload.”

  “True, if wealth were all that they were after,” Bryce said, studying the board. “But as I said, the woman is independent, abrupt, intimidating. Maintains her distance. She’s always studying those around her. And as you say, she wears black at all times. And that peculiar shock of white in her hair.”

  “It’s quite soft.”

  “What’s soft?” Bryce’s gaze snapped up to Conall’s face.

  “Her hair.”

  “How the devil would you know that?”

  Conall caught himself. He was talking too much, asking too many questions, sounding too interested. Even so, he wanted to know more about her. Much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to know everything about Innes Munro. He moved his queen.

  “Checkmate.”

  Bryce stared in disbelief at the board. Conall had cornered his king with the queen and bishop.

  “Bloody hell. You distracted me. I was certain I had you.”

  “The only one around here you might beat at chess is Thunder. And that’s only if he’s having a bad day.”

  “Seriously, Ailein. I’m tired and wet and hungry. Where are you taking me?”

  The rain-drenched courtyard of the Inner Ward was deserted, and Innes was beginning to be somewhat annoyed at being dragged along by her sister without an explanation.

  “I told you,” said Ailein. “You’ll see in a moment.”

  Ailein had been waiting for Innes in the stairwell of the East Tower and pounced on her as soon as she returned from her walk. Whatever it was Ailein wanted to show her, Innes clearly had to see it right now.

  “Shouldn’t you be in the Great Hall, dining with your husband?”

  “One of the servants came in, whispered in Bryce’s ear, and then he left without a word of explanation. Just got up and went. But everyone else is still there, so this is the perfect time.”

  “The perfect time for what?”

  The rain began to come down again in earnest, and sharp gusts of wind whipped their cloaks around them.

  “Soon,” said Ailein.

  They reached the chapel. Ailein passed through the arched entryway into the small kirkyard.

  “Why are you bringing me here? And why now?” Innes complained. “If we’re planning to rob a grave, we need shovels. Wait. We’re going to bury your husband. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  As Ailein pulled her against the protective shelter of the chapel wall, the wind coming of
f the sea fought them with every step.

  Innes stole a glance at graves topped by slabs of stone. The rain was beating down and small wisps of mist, like souls released, curled around the larger rock markers.

  They stopped at a doorway in the shadows.

  “A back way in,” Ailein whispered, looking past her toward the courtyard. There was not a living soul except for them.

  “It’s probably locked.”

  With a knowing look back at her, Ailein pushed open the thick oak door.

  Innes waited just inside the door as her sister crossed the chapel to a small red globe glowing in the sacristy. The odor of old dampness mingled with the sharp smell of ritual incense. A moment later, the flame of a taper brightened the space between them. She hadn’t been inside here since Ailein’s wedding a fortnight ago. The flowers and greenery that festooned the walls were gone now, and the chapel looked as simple as any other.

  “Will you explain to me now what this is all about?” Innes asked.

  “The crypt. I want to take you down there.”

  “I’m not going. Not unless you explain yourself.”

  “I asked for your help, but you wouldn’t give it to me. So I had to find the answers in my own way.”

  “So why the crypt?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Innes watched her sister start down a half dozen steps, and there was nothing she could do but follow. As they descended, the air became mustier. Innes held onto the wall as she went down into a low, square chamber. Stone tombs lined the walls. Some were adorned with the effigies of knights, their carved stone swords held in their hands. Others had chiseled silhouettes of faces.

  “Very well. We’re here. It’s time you told me what this is about.”

  “I need you to confirm that what I’ve found here is real and not my imagination.”

  “Stop being mysterious,” Innes ordered. “Just tell me.”

  “I’ve been following Wynda and Lachlan around every day, doing whatever they ask of me. I’ve been so agreeable that you wouldn’t even have recognized me.” Ailein put the candle in a sconce on the wall. “In return, I’ve been asking questions. Quietly and discreetly.”

  “About Shona.”

  Ailein nodded sadly. “I’m not an idiot. The more time passes since my wedding, the more I realize how much Bryce loved her. He lost his temper that night because I wore a reminder of someone he’d lost.”

  Innes considered lecturing her sister about the futility of trying to change the past, but there was no purpose to that. Ailein had to follow her heart and her instincts until she somehow came to terms with her husband’s history. This was her nature. There could be no other way.

  “What have you found?” asked Innes.

  “Those two never say a word about her. Whatever I ask, they ignore. They won’t so much as mention her name. You’d think she never existed. So, I followed a different track. I’ve spent the past couple of days coming here and visiting with Fingal.”

  “That strange little priest?”

  Ailein nodded. “He’s opened the church ledgers and allowed me to ask questions. He thinks I’m trying to learn more of the history of the Sinclairs.”

  “Which is true in a way, isn’t it?”

  Her sister shrugged and turned to one of the walls, touching some inscriptions etched in the stone.

  “I’ve looked at the record of every birth, baptism, marriage, and death that has happened here in the past hundred years,” said Ailein.

  “The chapel at home has a similar book. You’ve seen it.”

  “This crypt is where they bury only the immediate family.” Ailein pointed to the inscriptions. “And the names are here.”

  Innes’s gaze moved from her sister’s troubled face to columns of names on the wall. “What have you discovered?”

  “When she died, Shona was carrying a child.”

  During her sister’s marriage negotiations, Innes recalled learning that Bryce had been married to his first wife for eight months. The Munros had asked about heirs. They were told Bryce had no children—no heirs.

  “In the book that Fingal keeps, her name is listed with the day she died, along with a notation, ‘with child.’”

  Innes rubbed her arms. The chill seemed to have seeped into her bones. She imagined what such a loss would have meant to Bryce. His wife and his bairn.

  “Perhaps knowing this will help you understand your husband better. He needs you.”

  “But that’s not the worst of it,” Ailein replied, her distress evident in her voice.

  Innes looked up into Ailein’s gray eyes, shining with unshed tears. “What else?”

  “I can’t confirm that she was buried here.”

  “Perhaps her body was sent to her own people.”

  “If I die, where will I be buried?” she asked.

  “You’re a Sinclair now,” Innes said in a hushed tone. “You’ll be buried here.”

  “I think Shona might be buried outside somewhere, not on consecrated ground.”

  “What are you saying? That she took her own life? While she was pregnant?”

  A tear rolled down Ailein’s cheek. “I don’t know. I was hoping you’d help me find out.”

  Even now, as I look down at the bluffs where she fell, where her body struck and broke, where her unborn child died in her womb, my guilt is not strong enough to make me confess. And if she lies buried in an unholy field or in a consecrated crypt, what difference? It is all the same. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.

  Whatever pain and sorrow I feel, nothing can make me cry out, “It was I! I did it!” Nay, that will not undo what has been done. The lass is dead, and she cannot come back to life.

  But, to speak truly, I would not want her back.

  Still, they cannot know. I shudder at what would happen if they found out the truth. I would be ruined. Destroyed.

  The devil take me before I let them find out. And if he does take me, so be it.

  Chapter 6

  Innes couldn’t sleep.

  Standing in her window, looking down at the bluffs, she imagined Shona jumping to her death from the floor above. What would drive a woman to do that?

  They’d known she was with child. So how far along had she been? The Munros were led to believe that the first wife’s death was an accident. But the church clearly held a different view. Why else wasn’t she buried in the crypt with the family?

  Before they went their separate ways, Innes convinced her sister that her discovery might be nothing. There could be a rational explanation for all of it. Somehow, Ailein needed to put the questions delicately to her husband and trust his answer.

  Ailein went off to her chambers glummer than Innes had ever seen her. This was marriage. Real life. Innes had seen enough of people’s pasts to know happiness was a momentary illusion. Everyone had pain. No one was spared hardship and toil in this life. The difference between people was simply that some were better at masking it than others.

  She moved across the room and gazed out at the lit windows in the upper floors of the West Tower. Conall Sinclair. Another restless soul.

  It would soon be dawn. The rain had stopped. The smell of bread baking in the kitchens mingled with the sea air. She donned her cloak, pulled on her gloves, and grabbed her basket and leather case before heading out.

  During the first days of their stay, Bryce’s aunt Wynda had shown her the way to leave the castle on the sea side. A small door in the fortress wall, just above the high-water line, led down stone steps to a goe, one of two rocky inlets thirty to forty yards wide that created the high peninsula on which the castle stood.

  Innes went past the kitchens toward the stairwell down to the door. Most days, the kitchens were just stirring as she passed. This morning, the place hummed with activity. Beneath rafters hung with a multitude of meats and great bunches of herbs, workers bustled about their tasks, and fragrant steam from a score of cauldrons and pots rose like a cloud to the vaulted stone ceiling.


  “Ah, Innes. Come here, mistress, if you please.”

  She stopped at Wynda’s command. Bryce’s gray-haired aunt stood straight as an oak, and her pleasant demeanor did not fool Innes. The woman ran Girnigoe with strict authority and ruthless efficiency. Innes thought her sister could have no better teacher for her role as mistress of a castle.

  Approaching the ovens where Wynda was supervising the baking, Innes was once again surprised by the snow-white muslin apron the aunt wore as she performed her duties. The apron was never soiled nor spotted. Never. Considering how busy Wynda was at all times, Innes decided the woman had to change a dozen times a day.

  Wynda was speaking to the cook. “The mistress here went without her supper last night. She didn’t even ask for a tray to be sent up.”

  “I’m fine, Wynda. I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Aye. I’m sure that’s so, lass.” The aunt turned back to the cook. “Put something together for her, before she disappears. We’ll not have it said that the Sinclairs allowed her to waste away here during her stay with us.”

  The cook, a stout red-faced woman of indeterminate age, nodded sternly at the older woman and, with a covert wink at Innes, began to assemble some food for her.

  “The kitchen workers are at it early this morning,” Innes commented. “Are you expecting guests?”

  “No guests here these days. Just us.” Wynda took the cloth packet of food from the cook and handed it to her. “Be mindful of the tides now.”

  “And watch out for the seabirds,” Cook added. “Larger lassies than you have been carried off, you know.”

  Innes nodded her gratitude, placed the food in her basket, and walked out.

  No guests. The earl’s return must be the reason for the excitement.

  She descended the dark, narrow stairs and unbarred the stout door. A few moments later, she stood on the stony strand and looked back up at the formidable combination of nature and man’s work. Above the sheer cliffs, Castle Girnigoe loomed. The peninsula, projecting out on an angle from the shore into the German Sea, provided a site for what was said to be the most impregnable fortress in Scotland. Innes believed it. Only at the lowest tides could one even manage to circle the base of the castle. Beyond the farthest point of land, high stacks of rock rose above the waves, some reaching fifty or sixty feet into the air.