Michele Sinclair - [McTiernays 05] Read online

  Craig crossed his arms and rocked onto his heels in a failed attempt to hide his pleasure. Brenna had already revealed how boring it had been with Hamish and Meriel in the Warden’s Tower, but it was obvious they both wanted him to believe that they had met in her bedchamber. Seeing Hamish’s frustrated expression only added to his feeling of triumph. Just as Craig predicted, the man had been in hell. “Come drown your sorrows with a drink.”

  Hamish shook his head. “Next time. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

  “So I take it things were not quite as pleasant as you thought they’d be,” Craig said with a smirk.

  Hamish’s jaw tightened and his mouth formed a stubborn line. He could feel beads of sweat forming across his forehead and he knew at any minute Craig would interpret his angst for what it really was. “There are many words I could use to describe today’s experience.”

  Craig inhaled and pursed his lips, shaking his head. “I guess Meriel wasn’t happy to hear you wouldn’t be coming back.”

  Hamish started walking away, eager to end the conversation. “She wants me back tomorrow,” he corrected over his shoulder. “I told her I was busy but agreed she could finish Wednesday.”

  Once inside the stables and out of Craig’s sight, Hamish leaned against the railing in relief. Normally he would have been reluctant to deceive anyone, especially a close friend. What he had told Meriel was true—he did think Craig needed a reminder that he was not always right. But after spending an afternoon with her and seeing Craig’s unconcerned response to their being alone, Hamish’s reasons for helping Meriel with her plan had morphed from amusing pastime into something far more serious.

  Fact was, Rae Schellden’s daughter was nothing like Hamish had originally thought. She was funny, smart, and could dole out sarcasm as well as receive it. Combine that with a smile that could instantaneously warm a man throughout his body, she was someone men would fight body and soul to make their own. And Craig knew it; worse, he refused to accept that he wanted her for his own. But if Craig thought he could prevent anyone else from discovering just how special Meriel was, he was a fool.

  Meriel had come out of her shell, and Hamish doubted she would return to it ever again. Whether Craig knew it or not, this was his last chance to claim her for his own. For if he remained steadfast to his idiotic notions of bachelorhood, Hamish knew, as someone who had once loved deeply and walked away, that Craig would forever regret it.

  Two days later, Hamish rounded the corner and saw the door to Meriel’s bedchamber wide open. She was sitting casually on a bench by the window with one foot tucked underneath her. Her head was bent and her focus was completely on stitching what he guessed to be part of his shirt.

  He leaned against the door frame and shook his head as he looked around the room. He had heard stories of Meriel being less than tidy. Most of them had come from Craig’s twin brother, Crevan, but recently Brenna had added a few. It was hard to believe, but not a single tale had been exaggerated. The place was not dirty, just very messy with piles of random items everywhere.

  Hamish would not have defined himself as a person who needed things orderly, but he suspected if he did have a place to call his own, it would be far neater than Meriel’s bedchamber. Then again, he did not have much to clutter a room. With the exception of his sword, his targe, and some clothes, any items of real value that belonged to him were housed far away and were irretrievable. As a result, he needed little when it came to housing. He usually slept outside, in the Warden’s Tower, or in one of the larger cabins that sheltered several of the single soldiers. With his seniority and position within the elite guard, he probably could have requested a cottage, but he had refrained from doing so. His home was north and not on McTiernay land. Only when he had a wife and a family would he finally set down permanent roots—and then it would be her responsibility to keep it clean, not his.

  Hamish studied the room as if it were a complex obstacle course. Only two areas remained uncluttered—the bed and a space around the hearth, which Hamish had no doubt had just been recently straightened for his benefit. Unfortunately, there was no way to get to it without stepping or rubbing against something. And in his present filthy state, doing either would certainly raise Meriel’s ire, if it was not already high due to his being considerably tardy.

  He had been at the training fields helping some new recruits when he remembered his promise to join her that afternoon for another “fitting.” Because he was running late, he had elected to skip diving into the loch to wash off the sweat and grime. A decision he now wished he could remake. “So this time we are to meet here . . . in your bedchamber,” he smirked.

  Meriel looked up and her face noticeably brightened upon seeing him. Hamish had prepared himself for her anger or at least some admonishment, but if she was feeling perturbed at his tardiness, it was not evident. “As you can see.”

  “You, my lady, are living dangerously. I have the feeling I should be the hero, protect you from yourself, and request we meet elsewhere.”

  Meriel smiled wickedly. “I can assure you that we are quite safe from the blue-eyed danger you speak of, and besides, Brenna was right. The Warden’s Tower is musty.” Suddenly, her eyes grew large and reflected regret at possibly having offended him. “Of course if you feel uncomfortable, we could go somewhere else.”

  Hamish shook his head. He knew meeting in her bedchamber was far from the wisest thing he had ever done, but he also knew that neither of them was going to do anything that would cause them shame. And surprisingly, knowing that he would not even attempt—let alone succeed in—such an endeavor stirred a bit of disappointment in him.

  “So where is our little chaperone?” he asked, taking a step inside.

  Meriel turned a fraction and tucked her free leg underneath her. Her back was now toward the window, causing the early afternoon sunlight to pour over her shoulders and onto what she was working on. As she sat there, Hamish thought he was looking at an angel. Her loosely twisted hair gleamed like strands of lustrous glass and he found himself wishing it were hanging down loose around her shoulders and accessible to being touched.

  Meriel sighed. “Maegan could not come, for she is still taking care of her grandmother. I was about to ask Brenna to join us when the intuitive little thing announced that she had to help her mother’s friend Aileen. Though when I asked her what exactly she was to be doing, Brenna claimed she could not remember, only that it was very important. So it is just you and I again.”

  Hamish blinked. He had heard her answer the question, but his mind had been elsewhere. In an effort to disguise the lascivious nature of his thoughts, he quirked his eyebrow roguishly. “Brenna is a smart one. And unfortunately for the men in her future, she is also cunning and far too pretty.”

  “And why is that such a terrifying combination?” Meriel asked, pretending to be personally affronted. “Don’t men want their women to be smart, beautiful, and a little spirited?”

  Hamish grunted, refusing to answer. Her playful question was rhetorical, but Meriel had no idea just how accurately she had described his ideal woman. Unfortunately, the only ones he could ever find with all three characteristics were always taken—and usually by a McTiernay. “I probably should have jumped in the loch before I came. But I’m here. So where should I stand this time?” he grumbled as he unsheathed his sword and leaned it on the wall next to the door.

  Meriel cocked her head. Her green-and-gold eyes searched his face. Deciding not to inquire at his unexpected change in demeanor, she pointed to the large cushioned chair by the hearth.

  Hamish remained standing where he was. “I distinctly remember you saying last night at dinner that you needed to check some fittings and that it would take awhile.”

  “And you believed me?” Meriel giggled, lifting up his shirt, which looked close to being complete. “For such a simple garment?”

  Embarrassed, Hamish snorted. “Now that I think on it, I wasn’t exactly alone when you asked me to come, wa
s I?”

  The twinkle in Meriel’s eye brightened at the memory. “Aye, you were not. Did you see Craig’s look of shock when I suggested he come join us today and keep you company?”

  Hamish remembered. He also remembered not being thrilled at the idea. He enjoyed talking with Meriel, and if Craig were there, he suspected his role in the love triangle would become one of silent observer.

  Hamish glanced out in the hall, although he already knew Craig was not lurking somewhere within hearing. Meriel was being far too open about her plans. “Just where is the object of your affection?”

  “You know, I’m not really sure,” Meriel said, licking her lips, returning her focus to her stitching. She hooked the needle through the material and tied off the knot. The leine was done. All she had left to do was cut the thread. “I do remember having a conversation with Laurel though, soon after I invited Craig to join us. She might have mentioned her needing Craig’s assistance all afternoon, especially since he had no real plans other than relaxing with us.”

  Hamish crossed his arms and shook his head. It was no wonder Brenna was more devious than most adults, let alone children. With Laurel as her mother and Meriel and Maegan as her two mentors, how could the little girl not be? “You are evil,” he said simply.

  “I,” Meriel began, “am just much smarter about who assists me in my endeavors to keep Craig away.”

  “Endeavors? That’s what you call it?” Hamish asked as he closed his eyes and shook his head, relieved that no woman was busy scheming to control his life unbeknownst to him. Though a small piece of him did wonder what it would be like to have someone interested enough in him to do so.

  “Aye, and those endeavors will work to your advantage as well if you will sit down and listen,” Meriel said, pointing to the large hearth chair once again. “Since Craig will be gone all afternoon, we have plenty of time to discuss this evening’s meal. Tonight, there are going to be a number of people coming. Lady Laurel is requesting all of the laird’s honor guard along with their wives to attend, and I told her that I would extend the invitation to you. And as you are not married, I asked Wyenda to accompany you.”

  Hamish perked up and started to move toward the chair. “Really?”

  “Aye, and not until I mentioned you were going to escort her did Wyenda agree to come.” Meriel quickly looked back down at her sewing as a feeling of guilt washed over her. She had not lied exactly. She had met with Wyenda and asked her to come. And the woman had promptly refused, insinuating that she was expecting an invitation to dine with far more important people that evening. Meriel had been half tempted to pivot and leave the haughty woman to her grand plans, but unfortunately, the primary goal of the dinner required Wyenda’s attendance.

  As long as Hamish met with the vain woman privately, he could deceive himself as to what she was. Meriel hoped that if he spent a few hours with Wyenda amongst his friends, the experience would reveal some of the woman’s more unpleasant traits. So, when Wyenda had refused the invitation, Meriel had bolstered her resolve and expressed deep regret that she could not come, as tonight was not going to be just any gathering. Several visitors would be attending at Lady McTiernay’s behest, including a young, single nobleman in line to becoming a laird of one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. Unsurprisingly, Wyenda had quickly invented a reason to change her mind and agreed to come.

  I pray you understand that I did it for you, Hamish. Meriel sent the mental plea. She had been a child the last time she had purposefully misled someone, and that was when she and Raelynd were taking advantage of being identical twins. But in the last month, Meriel felt like she was becoming an expert in the art. First with Craig, then Wyenda, and now Hamish. Guilt should be eating her alive, and if everything did not work out as she hoped, Meriel suspected it eventually would.

  A wary but indulgent glint appeared in Hamish’s eyes. “So I guess I’ll sit down. Umm, what should we talk about?”

  “Anything you would like.”

  Hamish bobbed his head and began to look around, as if something in the room would give him an interesting topic they could converse about for hours. Meriel inclined her head, and for several minutes covertly watched him shift positions in the chair, not from discomfort but from boredom. Finally, taking pity on the man, she placed the completed leine on the bench next to her. “While I may not know you very well, Hamish, I had guessed that sitting and doing nothing would entertain you for about as long as it would me. But I was wrong. You didn’t even manage five minutes, and I am sure I could have lasted at least ten.”

  Hamish looked at her, intending to return her tease with a withering and intimidating stare, but her infectious smile made it impossible. “My lady, relaxation for a man like myself is nothing but a slow, painful process to insanity.”

  “You speak of being bored, which you shall not be today,” she countered and walked over to the door. She picked up his sword and carried it to him. As she placed it in his outstretched hand, her lips curved conspiratorially as she pointed to the long wooden chest next to the chair. “Open it,” she instructed.

  Hamish arched a single brow but did not argue as he leaned down to pull on the chest’s strap. The heavy lid fell back and his dark emerald eyes grew large as he realized what was inside. Everything he needed to polish a sword.

  “Relaxation does ease the spirit,” Meriel countered. “For me it is anything to do with a needle and thread. For you, well, I’m hoping I guessed correctly. I remembered how you polished your sword at night when we traveled here, and I thought that you might like to do so today.”

  Hamish blinked as he studied the contents of the chest. She had acquired everything he needed. Either Meriel remembered or she had questioned the sword smith, but either way, she had thought about him and had taken the time to do something specifically for him. Outside of his mother, Hamish could not recall when anyone, let alone a woman, had done something just to make him happy. “This must have taken you some time,” he said softly.

  “Not time, but ingenuity,” Meriel corrected him. “The wood and the cloth of course were easy enough, but Obe was more than a little curious as to why I would want a whetstone and a file. I was trying to come up with a plausible reason when he suddenly gave them to me and shooed me out of his shop.”

  Hamish pulled both items out of the box and nodded his head, imagining her conversation with the sword smith. Obe was incredibly shy, and the idea of a pretty woman talking to him, in his space, had to have made him extremely uncomfortable. No wonder he just gave her the items without explanation.

  “So did I get everything?” she asked expectantly.

  “Aye. And my sword could use a polish, especially after today’s beating,” Hamish answered, the tone of his voice revealing just how eager he was to get started.

  Meriel returned to her bench and picked up his leine, pretending to still be sewing on the sleeve.

  Hamish placed the wooden block on his lap to brace the sword as he began to use the metal file on the sword’s edge. After several minutes listening to the repetitive sound, Meriel stopped pretending to work and watched him make long, even, unhurried strokes to reshape the weapon.

  Tiny metal fragments flew off and scattered onto the hearth rug, but he seemed oblivious to them. She would have to remember to roll the rug up and have it beaten before she walked on it with bare feet. Before long, the silvery specks were noticeable enough that it would not be hard to remember. And yet Hamish continued with the long strokes. Meriel waited to see when he would test the edge, but he never did. “How do you know when it is sharp enough?”

  “Aye, that is the challenge. Most people have the sword smith sharpen their blades because, if they do it themselves, they pay too much attention to the edge, ruining the weapon. They think sharper is better.”

  “But . . . isn’t it?”

  “Nay. The trick is to remove just enough metal so that the edge is exposed. If you make a sword too sharp, it will chip more easily during fig
hting and may even break.”

  Meriel considered what he said. “So less is more.”

  Hamish looked up and she could see a faint light twinkle in the depths of his green eyes. “Aye.”

  They locked gazes for several seconds before Meriel made herself break away and refocus on her sewing. The rasping sound of metal rubbing metal resumed, and Hamish began to hum to the rhythm. The overall effect was strangely comforting.

  After she had arranged with Laurel to have Craig disappear for the afternoon, Meriel had almost panicked. While she and Hamish got along quite well—better than she dreamed possible with someone other than Craig—the thought of keeping him entertained for an hour or more had seemed daunting. Then she remembered their recent journey to the McTiernays’, when at night Hamish and she had spoke some, but mostly he had sat in silence, polishing his sword. At the time, she had the impression that he found the activity relaxing. So she had immediately gone to seek all the components she remembered him using.

  After awhile, Hamish leaned over and searched the chest. He sat back up. “Do you have any oil?”

  “Oil?” Meriel repeated, unable to recall him using any previously. She blinked at him for a second and then glanced around the room, though she knew she kept none. Then she remembered the flower oil Maegan had brought her soon after she arrived, to remove the musty smell from her room. “How much do you need?”

  “I need only enough for a thin layer on the blade’s surface.”

  Jumping up, Meriel went over to the small table by the side of the bed and picked up the small wooden bowl. Hamish looked at the flowered contents and sniffed the odor. “Umm, nice, but uh, why don’t you hand me that candle instead?”

  Meriel squinted at him mischievously. “Afraid the other soldiers might tease you?”

  With an impish grin, Hamish lifted his sword and held it in front of him. “This is a man’s sword, Meriel.”

  “What are you saying? That the metal might go soft if a little lavender oil touched it?” She chuckled, replacing the bowl on the table, selecting the candle instead.