Michele Sinclair - [McTiernays 05] Read online

  “Maybe not the sword, but I’m pretty sure I would,” he mumbled, taking the offered candle. Leaning over, he stuck the wax into the hearth to light it and then quickly moved to allow some of the melted beeswax to drop onto the blade.

  Meriel shook her head and sat back down. “I bet Wyenda would like her man to smell like a flower garden. Believe it or not, the odor of male sweat is not all that appealing to us female types.”

  Hamish arched a brow and bit back a smart comment. He replaced the wooden block with the whetstone and began to pass the blade over the stone. Again and again, while keeping the edge at an angle, he scraped the metal using a slow and uniform stroke. The sound was much different than that of the file, and though both were somewhat loud, this particular one made her grit her teeth, praying he would finish soon. “Uh, how long does that take?”

  Hamish stopped suddenly, realizing the reason behind her question. “Just until I have gone over the entire surface. I’m almost done.” He inspected the blade and worked an edge a handful of times until he was satisfied. Then he leaned back to open his sporran and pulled out a small piece of coarse leather similar to the one she had seen in Craig’s. He carefully began to rub the metal until it shone. Now she understood why they carried around such an abrasive item.

  Hamish stopped abruptly and looked up, catching her staring at him. “How are you coming on that thing?” he asked, nodding toward the finished leine in her hand.

  Startled, Meriel blinked and gave a small shake of her head, embarrassed and unable to think of a plausible explanation for why she had been watching him so intently. “I, uh, I’m practically done,” she lied.

  “So then this is it?” Hamish asked, hoping he did not sound as disappointed as he felt. He was starting to look forward to the time he spent with her. She seemed to understand him and he felt he could be himself in ways he could with no one else.

  Meriel sighed and looked out the window. It had been nice having company, especially since she had not been required to make idle conversation. That the company was Hamish had been an unexpected and nice surprise. “Umm, probably should do one last fitting. This time, a real one. I should make sure that I have the length of the sleeves and the kilt correct,” she said, though she was confident they were.

  With his chin, Hamish pointed at the leine in her hands. “Why not now?”

  “Because I will need Craig here to witness the fitting. If he doesn’t, at least once, he will believe that I coerced you into working with me in order to make him jealous.”

  “I doubt one meeting is going to convince him otherwise.”

  “Aye, but then I don’t need him to be convinced one way or the other. I just need him to suspect that we were conspiring to keep him away . . . at least for now,” she said, getting momentarily lost in her thoughts. “But seeing that you are done, I should probably prepare myself for dinner. Based on my encounters with Wyenda, I’m not sure she sees me as a competitor for your affections. But tonight I am determined to create some sparks of jealousy in those blue eyes of hers. As soon as you leave, I intend to put quite a bit of effort into my appearance.”

  Apprehension filled Hamish. He wanted to say that such effort was unnecessary, but the gleam in Meriel’s eye was disconcerting. He was beginning to know her well enough to understand that those looks of hers were the precursor to an evening of mayhem. Usually he welcomed the entertainment that tended to come with chaotic events, but that was when he was not the center of attention.

  Unfortunately, tonight, the focus would be on him. And Hamish was not sure he was ready for what might happen.

  Laurel stepped into her place at the dining table and paused for a slight moment, looking toward the gaping hole in the middle of the line of guests to her left. She gave a polite nod to all those present and sat down. Once everyone was seated, she leaned toward Craig, who was occupying Conor’s seat at her request, and whispered, “Where are our two guests?”

  Craig glanced at Meriel, sitting to his right, and once again felt the jolt of irritation. She wore a gown he had not seen before, and in his mind it was altogether too revealing, as the bustline was significantly lower than he preferred. The bronze color was not one she had worn before and must have come from one of the various bolts Conor had purchased for Laurel. The dark shade of copper would not have complimented his fair-complexioned sister-in-law, but on Meriel the garment looked to be made of liquid metal as it swirled around her slender frame, gently clinging to her curves. The brilliant hue complimented her hazel eyes, enhancing the green so they looked like polished emeralds while the golden specks drew whoever gazed upon them to a place where bodies collided in rhythmic movement and passion.

  “Craig,” Meriel repeated for the second time; this time her hushed tone had a little more bite. “You are staring at me.”

  Craig’s jaw clenched. “I am not. I am merely . . . um . . . waiting on an answer to my question.”

  “You have not said a word to me.”

  Craig was afraid that she might be correct, but pride forced him to flat out deny the possibility. “I did. I said that you were with Hamish all afternoon and if anyone were to know of his whereabouts, it would be you.”

  Meriel returned his glare with one of her own. “That was not a question. That was a—” Before she could issue a scathing retort, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, snatching everyone’s attention. Hamish entered and on his arm was a stunning woman wearing a blue gown that made it clear her background was far removed from a mere Highland clan. Meriel inwardly groaned. She should have known that trying to outshine anyone, let alone a famed beauty, would be a failure.

  Everything about Wyenda was theoretically beautiful. She was tall and shapely, her face was a perfect oval, and her lips were full and red. Even her reddish-blond hair hung in long graceful curves over her shoulders. It was no wonder she captured the attention and hearts of men. And yet each time Meriel saw her, either in person or at a distance, the woman held no charm or appeal. If anything, Wyenda reminded her of an insect.

  Perhaps it was because she had a very thin nose, or that her features were slightly too close together. Maybe it was that the bones in her shoulders protruded somewhat. But more than likely it was the void of emotion in her pale blue eyes. Not only were they slightly larger than they should have been, they constantly darted around with crisp, restless movements. Even now they shifted from person to person, as if she was inspecting everyone in the room in an effort to uncover any weaknesses.

  With a rueful look, Hamish walked right up to Laurel, who stood to greet the two guests. “My apologies, my lady, for our tardiness. I’m afraid that I did not gauge my time well this evening.”

  Laurel was no more deceived than Meriel was. Hamish had left in plenty of time to escort Wyenda back to the castle. Rumors of her punctuality—or lack of it—had been circulating for some time. Wyenda believed that arriving late reminded those present of her former importance. Similarly, she believed that dining at the McTiernay Castle was highly overrated because she knew Laurel’s penchant for enjoying the company of McTiernay clansmen and -women far beneath her station. When Meriel had asked Laurel if Wyenda could be a dinner guest, they had discussed the situation. Conan could be rude, but they knew Wyenda’s tongue could be lethal.

  Hoping that Meriel truly was prepared for what she was about to provoke this evening, Laurel took in a deep breath and quickly readied her own patience. She issued a small smile to the couple. “Please be at ease, Hamish. And Wyenda, I am glad you were able to attend after all. I understood that you had at first declined my offer.”

  Hamish stared briefly at Wyenda before his puzzled gaze moved to Meriel. But her hazel eyes had already been ensnared by Wyenda’s glaring sky-blue ones. The malice the watery depths held was unhidden. “Someone convinced me to come, my lady,” Wyenda answered, never once glancing at Laurel. “I was led to believe that a man of importance would be in attendance.”

  A sudden storm invaded Laurel’s darken
ing blue-green eyes as she pointed at the empty seats Hamish and Wyenda were to occupy. “Are we not important?”

  Refusing to move, Wyenda looked her hostess unapologetically in the eye. “I was promised nobles from other clans.”

  Laurel licked her lips in sudden understanding of how the woman had been convinced to come. Laurel glanced back at Meriel, who met her eyes with a calm look of innocence. Rae Schellden’s daughter was a difficult one to read, but then everything was going according to Meriel’s well-thought-out plan. Wyenda had arrived late and, as expected, she was decidedly not pleased.

  Peace settled over Laurel and she reminded herself she had but a small role to play. And with that thought, she began to look forward to the rest of the night, for it was going to be far from boring. Pasting on a large grin, Laurel gracefully waved her hand toward her right. “But there is a noble here this evening. Laird McTiernay’s younger brother Craig, who now permanently resides with another clan, is visiting us.”

  Wyenda, not caring how she came across, tossed her hair behind her shoulders and looked directly at the one who had tricked her into accepting the invitation. “You deceived me.”

  Meriel, feeling far from threatened, was having to fight the urge to smile and break out into fits of laughter. The woman was far too easily baited. Then she saw the look of mortification on Hamish’s face. Wyenda was not only humiliating herself, but him. For a moment, Meriel second-guessed her decision, but just as quickly reaffirmed it. Hamish needed to know exactly who it was that he desired.

  “Did I?” Meriel cooed in an almost-innocent tone. “I cannot imagine that was my intention.”

  Wyenda took a step back and Meriel realized that she might have tricked the woman into coming, but that did not translate into a sense of obligation to stay. Jumping to her feet, Meriel rushed around the table and placed herself between Hamish and Wyenda, hooking one of their arms into one of hers. Guiding them to their seats, Meriel addressed the entire dinner party. “I must apologize, for Wyenda is correct. Shy as she is, I knew she would never agree to come unless I pressured her to attend by suggesting that she could be of great support to Lady McTiernay with her out-of-town guest.”

  Placated somewhat by Meriel’s explanation of her supposed deceit, Hamish sat down. Wyenda, unable to maneuver around Meriel without pushing her out of the way, followed suit.

  Craig watched the whole scene in disbelief. How was it that no one but he could see the joy Meriel was finding in Wyenda’s hatred of her? When Meriel was once again sitting beside him, he leaned over and whispered into her ear, “If Hamish believed that nonsense you just spewed, he was the only one present who did.”

  Meriel cocked her head so that her mouth was not more than two inches from his. He waited, curious to see if she could fight the urge to kiss him. He was about to lose his own battle when she reached over and broke off a piece of bread to put on her plate. “Nonsense?”

  Craig leaned back in his chair, annoyed with himself for feeling disappointed. “Aye. That story you told to Wyenda.”

  Meriel twitched her lips and produced a look of ingenuousness. “It was not a story. It was the truth.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you uttered every word, but you and I both know that Laurel needed no help with her out-of-town guest.”

  When Meriel said nothing, Craig selected a large piece of pheasant off the meat platter and pulled it apart, giving her the leg bone while keeping the breast. “I have no problem with you deceiving Wyenda,” he continued in a hushed tone. “I’m merely puzzled as to why you would excuse her rude behavior. For the first time, Hamish had a chance to see that woman’s true shrewish nature, not to mention the fact that she was on the verge of leaving, when you ran over there and brought her back. Makes me wonder. I mean, if your supposed goal is to win Hamish’s affections, why would you jeopardize an opportunity to free him of Wyenda? Maybe your feelings for him are not quite what you said they were.”

  Craig sat back, crossed his arms, and gave Meriel a smug look, believing he was about to finally force her to admit the truth.

  Meriel popped a small chunk of meat into her mouth and slowly licked the savory juices from each of her fingers. “Ah, well, now I know why your efforts to hinder Hamish’s pursuit of Wyenda have failed so miserably,” she said, keeping her voice low and private. “Wyenda is angry with me because she believes I deceived her—which, in truth, I did. And while Hamish might be rankled by her attitude, he would ultimately blame me as the cause. I did not save Wyenda. I saved myself. And as for future opportunities with Hamish, I believe I just rescued them.”

  Unable to find fault with her logic, Craig hid none of his frustration as he yanked off another piece of bread and chewed it angrily. The woman was supposedly interested in a man sitting only a few seats away, so why wasn’t she toying with Hamish’s mind and leaving his alone? “Looks like you are wanted,” he quipped, pointing to Wyenda.

  Midway down the table, the gorgeous woman sat fuming. Wyenda had tried several times to get Meriel’s attention and knew she was being intentionally snubbed by the lesser woman. If she thought a simple laird’s daughter could outwit her, the foolish ciùrradair was quite mistaken. When Meriel finally looked her way, Wyenda hissed, “Should I be eternally grateful to have finally received the courtesy of your notice?”

  “I apologize for not seeing your need of me,” Meriel replied, completely unfazed by the attack. “What did you want to know that was of such great importance?”

  Wyenda blinked and could feel her chest rise and fall rapidly to match her breathing. In truth, she did not have a question but had only intended to make the aggravating Highland woman squirm under her stare. She could feel the silent weight of everyone listening and quickly manufactured a question that she hoped would put Meriel on her guard. “Do you still need to keep Hamish away from his duties with your petty needs?”

  With wide eyes filled with artificial pain, Meriel slowly shook her head and sighed softly. “The kilt is complete, but unfortunately, I realized this afternoon that I misjudged the size of Hamish’s chest and arms and therefore will need him one more time.” The truth was that she had already completed the first leine and had decided to make him a second shirt to support the pretense of needing another fitting.

  A cold look of skepticism invaded Wyenda’s expression. “And to think that so many believe you to be a superb seamstress,” she cooed.

  Seeing hard resentment saturate every facet of Wyenda’s expression, Craig realized, even if Meriel did not, that Wyenda’s furor was growing. If someone did not redirect the conversation, an explosion was going to occur and it would not stop with a simple exchange of fists. His gaze swung over to Laurel, expecting to see his sister-in-law preparing to step in and halt the discussion. Instead, she sat focused on slurping her soup, completely oblivious to the growing tension. The thought that something else was taking place flashed through his mind, but his simultaneous need to protect Meriel was so strong, it caused him to speak when he had had no intention of doing so. “It is amazing how often mishaps happen to even the most skilled artisans.”

  “It is amazing,” Meriel concurred calmly, giving him a solid kick in the shins underneath the table. The man was not supposed to interrupt, and if he continued, he was going to ruin everything. “Almost as amazing as you knowing about the frustrations a woman endures with a needle and thread.”

  Craig’s face turned an even deeper shade of red and Meriel realized she had taken the wrong route. Quickly shifting direction, she leaned in close and in a soft voice so that only he could hear, whispered, “This is your fault. I could have made those clothes days ago, but I have been waiting for you to give me another way for Hamish and me to spend time together. I need another idea and soon.”

  Craig blinked as he realized just what was happening. Laurel’s silence, Meriel’s confidence in the shadow of Wyenda’s hatred . . . this whole night was part of the elaborate game Meriel was playing. But what was her goal? Regardless of her aim, she wa
s unwittingly on the path to getting herself hurt. She might think herself equal to Wyenda, but she was not. Meriel was incredibly clever, but she lacked the mean spirit needed to tangle with the likes of that hellcat. “Our bargain was for me to give you a reason, not a litany of them.”

  Meriel’s green-and-gold eyes glittered with an unidentifiable emotion, which could have been either anger or anticipation. “Then you misunderstood,” she said evenly. “Our agreement was that you would help me until Conor arrives.”

  A frisson of anger rippled up Craig’s spine. If anyone misunderstood their agreement, it was Meriel. But before he could clarify exactly what his role would and would not be, Hamish intruded with a question. “Are you available Friday to make the corrections?”

  Meriel forced her face to relax before turning to look at him. She nodded. “That should be perfect, Hamish. Thank you.”

  Wyenda sent Meriel a wintry smile and curled her fingers possessively around Hamish’s bicep. “I do hope the items you are making him will be at least well made. I mean they should be flawless. One would think even an incompetent seamstress could create superb garments given all this time.”

  The angle of attack shocked Meriel. The quality of her work had always been praised, treasured, and in many cases, coveted. Never had anyone dared to insult her skill with a needle. Consequently, the idiotic barb was painless rather than wounding. Hamish was wrong. Wyenda was not misunderstood—she was shallow and heartless, and Meriel refused to let such a creature rile her.

  Wyenda truly thought she would leave the Great Hall victorious. The woman had no idea that she was a pawn in a much larger scheme, executing her role perfectly. Meriel needed only to give Wyenda a final push to make the night a complete success.

  A firm hand gripped Meriel’s knee underneath the table, causing her to turn around and look at Craig. Meriel was momentarily stunned. He was not afraid of what she might say; he was afraid for her. A wave of indignation went through Meriel. Did he really believe her incapable of dealing with the antipathy of a gleòidseach like Wyenda? Did Craig think her so weak as to actually be affected by the insults the woman hurled at her about her sewing?