Chapter Four
Hamish stood next to the kitchen entrance and bit into the hard loaf of bread. The gloomy afternoon weather matched his mood. A pleasant cook was a rarity and none of them ever liked anyone coming in and out of their workspace, but at least the McTiernays’ foul-tempered Fiona could prepare a decent meal. The most Hamish could say about the food at Foinaven was that it was edible. This was the second day he had returned from the morning’s endeavors too late to even enjoy leftovers from the noon meal. It would not happen again. Dried beef, hard bread, and warm ale may fill his belly, but it did little to improve one’s mood.
A breeze smelled of rain. Hamish looked up at the sky. It was growing thick with gray clouds and within an hour, two at most, it would be raining hard and for several hours. Thankfully, he had risen early and had been able to accomplish much of what he aimed to achieve. He had several more painfully early mornings to look forward to, but based on these first two outings, the results were worth it.
Even last night’s meeting he had with his brother had gone easier than anticipated. Almost too easy. Robert had quickly agreed that Hamish would only remain for a short period as acting commander. Any other duties, including clan decision-making or overseeing any staff, would be handled and managed by Selah and Mairead until Robert was well enough to resume his responsibilities. The only thing they did not discuss was his approach to the Ulrick situation. Robert did not ask for information and Hamish did not volunteer any. But that had not caused Hamish to feel uneasy.
He could not shake the niggling feeling that there was more to his brother’s accommodating demeanor. He just hoped that it was not a ruse to buy time and later ask him for more. For if that was true, Robert was going to be disappointed.
Soft thunder rumbled from the distance and those working in the courtyard started to move their livestock and goods under shelter. Hamish was just about to step out and help one of the men load his cart when he heard the distinct sound of swords clashing nearby. He paused to listen and realized that it was coming from inside the great hall.
Hamish pivoted and entered the buttery, deciding to enter the hall via the screens passage, which was used by the servants for easy access to and from the kitchens. A luxury in some castles, the passage was a necessity at Foinaven, unless the laird enjoyed his meals drenched from exposure to foul weather.
Stepping out from behind the partition, Hamish ignored the sounds of scuffles and clanking swords and took a moment to look around. Since his arrival, all their meals had been in the keep so that Robert did not have to leave his rooms. Twelve years ago, the hall had been much smaller and constructed out of wood. Since then, it had been completely rebuilt out of stone and Hamish found himself surprisingly impressed. From the outside, the structure resembled most great halls, which were just wide rectangular rooms with high ceilings and little else to make them remarkable.
Foinaven’s great hall was more simplistic than the one at McTiernay Castle, but it was also more than the boxlike shape that could be seen from the courtyard. Only when inside could the enormity of the room become apparent. The roof, nearly three stories high, was formed by several massive beams precisely angled and balanced on elaborately carved corbels. The northern side of the hall was to his right. It served as part of the curtain wall and was decorated with several clan banners—the MacBrieves and MacMhathains being the most prominent. To his left were two oversize wooden doors that opened to the courtyard and five large, square-shaped stained-glass windows, which let in more light than he would have thought. At the far end of the room was an enormous mantel that spanned nearly the entire width of the wall. Nestled within it were three fire pits, with the one in the center being the largest and the only one currently lit.
Hamish would have spent a few more minutes taking in the great hall surroundings if his attention had not been almost immediately refocused on the spectacle taking place. All the tables and benches had been dismantled or stacked off to the side to create enough room for what looked to be a dozen men in their late teens haphazardly clanking swords together. At first, Hamish thought it a farce, for no self-respecting Highlander would agree to train inside just to avoid some bad weather, let alone do so in the great hall. But after a few seconds watching their expressions, he knew that they were serious—and terrible.
Only a few attempted to move as they attacked and all of them thought too much. Each step taken was heavy and slow as if it was done by decision, not instinct. A marginally experienced swordsman could defeat any one of them without much effort.
The swords were dented, dull, and incapable of doing damage, making them worthless in a real battle. In addition, they were small—perhaps two-thirds the length of his broadsword. Based on the men’s open stance, Hamish surmised none of the young men had even held a decent targe, let alone trained with one. The shield was just as important to training as the sword and could be a serious weapon in and of itself, if one knew how to use it. The only positive thing he could see was that their grip was accurate.
Hamish stepped fully into view and was about to call everyone’s attention to stop the farce, when across the room he saw Mairead sparring with a lad who knew less than she did about sword fighting.
Hamish stood there and stared. Mo chreach, the sight of her lunging as she countered an attack caused his lower regions to uncontrollably flare to life. He did not think it possible, but Mairead looked even more striking in combat with a weapon.
The simple gown she wore enabled movement and accentuated her athletic body. Her golden brown hair was long and loose, restrained only by a single strap of leather in the back. It swung about her as she and a much taller boy shuffled around each other, periodically stabbing the air in an effort to throw the other off. Mairead had a solid grip, but her stance and parry movements had no purpose. Like the others in the room, her basic sword skills and combat approaches were enormously lacking.
Seeing Mairead fighting an armed man unsettled him. Aye, he had a penchant for beautiful women whose personality favored assertion and not compliance, but his protective instincts told him to snatch the weapon out of the young man’s hand and make him realize what a reckless idea it was to train with a woman. Then he wanted to order everyone out of the room so that he could show Mairead just what a woman should be doing with a man.
Hamish took a deep breath, rubbed the back of his neck, and fought back the unwelcome need growing within him. Never again would he abstain from enjoying a woman’s company for so long. There was no other explanation for these constant lascivious thoughts.
Mairead spotted him. She looked surprised for only a moment, then he saw the determination in her expression. He knew then that this was not just a farce, but a setup, and of Mairead’s doing. The woman had thought a pathetic display of skill would demonstrate Foinaven’s inability to protect itself. In turn, he would reach out to Conor and ask for help. Like most women, Mairead was willing to manipulate and lie to attain her goal. He should have known that no one so beautiful could be trusted.
With a smirk, Hamish realized the group had been in there training for some time and Mairead planned to keep them there, waiting for him, until he arrived. They could continue until they collapsed from exhaustion as far as he was concerned.
Hamish took a step back and was about to duck behind the partition to disappear the same way he had entered when he heard a loud scoff. “What we are doing here, old man, is hard enough without bored servants skulking about.”
Hamish raised a brow at the insult. He could not decide whether the insult was more amusing or annoying. Crossing his arms, he stared at the older, lanky lad.
The boy’s sparring partner grabbed his arm. “Be careful, Jaime,” he hissed, worry blanketing every feature of his face. “He might be one of Ulrick’s men.”
Jaime shook his arm free. “If he were any good, he would have left with the rest of them. And he came from there,” he said, pointing to the servants’ entrance.
His friend took another look at Hamish and retreated a step. “He doesn’t look like any servant I’ve ever seen.”
Refusing to admit that his friend had a point, Jaime pursed his lips and pointed to the back door. “Whoever you are, you were not invited and are unwelcome.”
Hamish narrowed his eyes and then shrugged his shoulders. “I was leaving when you chose to insult me.”
The boy glared. The sparring partner swallowed, and the others close enough to hear what was happening had halted all movement.
“Hamish!”
All eyes, including Hamish’s, immediately shifted to the soft female cry.
Mairead had not seen Hamish enter, but when she heard his deep baritone voice, her heart had stopped with fear. Underneath its jovial quality was something dark, cold, and very lethal, forcing her to shout out and get his attention.
Hamish glanced in her direction and without a word, once again turned to leave.
“Wait!” she called out, and then lifted up her gown and ran to where he stood.
Mairead had seen him the previous day only during dinner, and it had been brief. Robert had been coughing so much he retired soon after they started their meal. Little Rab had wanted to be with his father and rather than sitting with only Selah and Mairead for company, Hamish heaped meat onto his plate, grabbed a mug, and took his leave. No one saw him during the morning and where he ate his noonday meals, no one could say.
Just before Hamish could disappear behind the partition, Mairead reached his side and grabbed his arm, preventing him from leaving without stopping to physically remove her hand. She captured his gaze, hoping he would speak first, but just what it was she wanted him to say escaped her.
The Hamish of her childhood had been a kind older brother, but the man right before her was nothing of the sort. The way he looked at her was not at all brotherly. Desire smoldered in his dark green gaze along with an unmistaken element of distrust. The combination was creating havoc on her senses.
Flustered, she gestured to the men, all of whom were now standing and watching them. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Hamish pulled his chin inward, pretending to be confused. “You look very pretty,” he said in his most charming tone. “I prefer your hair down and this simple dress to the fancier ones you have been wearing.”
Mairead felt her heart race and for a second, she was taken in by his flattery. But only for a second. She refused to be rattled by him. Hamish may be a renowned flirt, but she was not inexperienced in the art. If he meant to redirect her thoughts, he was going to discover that she was not so easily manipulated. She had brought these men in here to achieve a goal and she would not be goaded into anger or dissuaded off her mission.
“That is not what I meant.”
“No?”
Mairead swung her arm out, gesturing to the small group gathering around them. “I meant as interim commander do you not have any advice that can help these men with their training?”
Hamish arched a brow. Mairead’s anger had disappeared and in its place was a disturbing look of expectancy. Aye, she created the situation, but it was not out of ill will. It was out of something else . . . hope. Mairead was hoping he would seek Conor for help.
For a moment, Hamish wished she had looked at him and saw hope. That he—not those he knew—could remove her fears. But she had not, nor was it likely she ever would. “It would take much more than two or three weeks of lessons to improve these lads.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “And I am fairly certain you are aware of that.”
Mairead put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. Pieces of her hair had come loose, framing her face in such a way as to make him imagine what she might look like after a night of being in his arms. Some small, sane part of himself screamed to step away and look elsewhere, but his eyes defied the good advice. Instead, they perused her body.
In return, Mairead did the unthinkable. Without breaking her gaze, she took a step even closer. “If you cannot train them, then at least give them advice.”
His sheer size loomed over her. Women this close to him were either in his embrace or seeking ways to get some distance. Not Mairead. If anything, their proximity seemed to encourage within her a self-assuredness.
Hamish’s jaw began to hurt it was so tense. She had jutted her chin out and straightened her shoulders in defiance, unaware that the move caused her gown to stretch tight around her breasts. The green in her hazel eyes sparkled with challenge. She was not trying to be beautiful and it only added to making her damn near irresistible.
Mo chreach! He was turning into a McTiernay. They fought with their wives all the time . . . but at least they got to kiss their women after the battle.
In truth, Hamish had always been baffled by McTiernay relationships. Verbally sparring with women was not something most men enjoyed doing. But Conor and Laurel argued ferociously and quite regularly. Each was incredibly stubborn and steadfastly determined to coerce the other into accepting their point of view. To Hamish, their arguments seemed pointless for rarely could either claim true victory. But he was finally beginning to recognize the side benefits that came with such heated debates. Those benefits, however, also came with a very permanent price when the woman was unwed and the younger sister of your brother’s wife. And Hamish planned on returning just as he came—alone.
“I see not men who lack training,” he replied, refusing to keep his voice low. “I see would-be farmers playing with real, if not pitiful, swords. So the only advice I have is to go back to using sticks before someone gets hurt.”
Jaime, the taller boy who had thought Hamish a servant, had heard enough. He did not care if Hamish was their temporary commander or not; he was no longer going to stand by idly and be insulted.
He stepped forward, shifting everyone’s focus to him. His grip on his sword was so tight, Hamish could see the whites of his knuckles. “You know nothing about my skills and abilities.” Jaime’s anger was unmistakable.
Hamish let his gaze float up and down the young man’s frame and twitched his lips. His dark hair fell unkempt significantly past his shoulders and the numerous freckles made him initially appear harmless. But he was as tall as Hamish and his frame was already rather muscular, most likely from hard labor. And his dark brown eyes glowered with indignation. The young man knew nothing about how to fight, but Hamish liked his courage. “A Highlander warrior in the making, are you?”
Jaime gave a single curt nod, anger still radiating from every pore.
“Then you must be decent at the pike.” The boy’s eyes narrowed. “No? Then are you comfortable with the spear?” A tic started in the boy’s jaw and Hamish knew the young man’s so-called training had been limited to the makeshift sword he held in his hand. “Have you ever even thrown an axe hammer?”
Hamish paused. Silence filled the room. He quickly scanned the faces and returned his scrutiny back to the one who had the gumption to at least try to defend his honor. Hamish knew his words were incendiary, but he needed to end this sham—not for just today, but forever. What was happening within these walls was practically a crime. They were doing little more than prepping themselves to get killed.
Jaime stepped forward. “Fight me.”
Hamish’s eyes widened upon hearing the unexpected challenge. He studied the lad and grinned. Jaime’s courage and pride were the first signs that at least one of them might someday be a true Highland warrior. “You cannot wield a weapon, but I admire your meanmna.”
Hamish’s smile only infuriated Jaime further. “I know I’ll lose. But it won’t be as easy to beat me as you think.”
Hamish was silent for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see everyone watching and wondering just how Jaime would fare against him. Mairead was not among them. She knew. A muscle in Hamish’s jaw flexed at the reminder that Mairead was just using these men. It needed to end.
Hamish rolled his eyes, knowing it would bait the young man into an attack, even though Hamish appeared weaponless.
It worked.
The moment Jaime made his move, Hamish reached for his dirk sheathed at his waist. In one smooth movement, he freed it and lunged forward. The moment he hit the blade near the hilt, the sword went flying just as Jaime lost his balance and fell to the ground. All gasped as they realized the tall youth was on the ground with Hamish’s blade at his throat.
Hamish waited for a second before he saw the acknowledgment of defeat in the young man’s eyes. “I heard him”—he pointed to his sparring partner—“call you Jaime. Is that your name?”
“Aye,” the tall lad replied shakily.
Hamish re-sheathed his dirk and held out a hand to help the young man back to his feet. “I’d focus on farming.”
Gone was Jaime’s confidence. He now looked defeated and disheartened along with the rest of the men in the room. It was as if they just realized how completely unskilled they were against a true opponent. The drastic shift bothered Hamish. Confidence needed to be earned, but to snuff out the little these men had through embarrassment was not an honorable method of proving a point. These young men wanted to be trained and should at least be given the chance. But to give that to them now would only encourage Mairead in her pursuit to manipulate him. She had arranged for their humiliation and she was going to have to live with the guilt of achieving her goal.
Hamish looked each young man in the eye. “I’ve accepted my brother’s request to take over as temporary commander for Ulrick until he returns. Under that authority, I will decide on what training is done, by whom, and where. Until then, all such activity in the great hall is to cease and you are to return and resume what you normally do to help support your family.”
Without any argument, every young man grabbed his things and left the hall. Their shoulders were slumped and most looked embarrassed. Mairead, however, was outraged. Hamish even more so.
He did not like the disdain he saw in her eyes when it was she who had intentionally orchestrated this mockery to manipulate him. “Any guilt to be felt is yours, Mairead, not mine. You arranged this absurd display. You gathered these men knowing their skills were lacking—significantly more than they believed. But what is worse, is that you intended to humiliate them to promote your cause. You’ve claimed I changed. Know this, you have too.”
Mairead was at a loss for words and she did feel responsible for what had happened. However, she still thought it somewhat justified. “I was hoping that you see the desperation of our situation. But never,” she whispered with vehemence laced in each syllable, “never did I think you would demonstrate their absence of any skill in such a humbling way.”
Hamish cursed under his breath. Mairead was speaking the truth. The shock in those boys’ eyes had filled hers, too. She had also believed them to be more skilled than they were. Probably even believed herself to be decent with a sword. “Do yourself a favor and don’t pick up that little sword of yours if you ever come under attack. You would only be giving the enemy a weapon to use against you.”
“You think me weak and incapable because I am a woman?” Mairead asked coolly, finally finding her voice. She had been numb, but her emotions were returning with force.
A shot of desire, wild and hot, roared through Hamish’s veins. Eyes blazing green, Mairead refused to yield or back down, even when she knew he had accurately called her on her feeble attempts to manipulate him. Any other woman, including Laurel, would be feeling at least some remorse. But not Mairead.
He crossed his arms to keep him from pulling her close and kissing her into submission. “On the contrary. I like the idea of a woman being able to defend herself. Watching her pull back a bow and let go an arrow can be very erotic,” he drawled out, “if she knows what she is doing.”
Mairead’s thoughts raced through her head. She told herself not to care what Hamish thought or said. He was a large, hairy oaf who lacked any gentlemanly behavior. But for some reason, his opinion about her ability with a sword did matter.
She took a step closer, stopping just shy of touching him. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I prefer the sword.”
Hamish said nothing.
Mairead’s cheeks were flushed and her scent was slowly undoing him. Once again her breasts were heaving with each breath she took. Hamish knew he should leave and get away from her while he still could. Swallowing, he pointed to the door. “Leave, Mairead, before I do something foolish.”
“Why should that be any different?” Mairead taunted, ignoring the undercurrent of fury going through Hamish. The man’s entire body was taut with warning, but she refused to heed it. “What could be more foolish than coming here to take Ulrick on alone?”
“Stay and find out,” Hamish answered through gritted teeth.
Mairead glared at him once more. The man could be angry all he wanted, but she had reason to be angry too. “Toll-tòine,” she hissed as she tried to step around him.
Hamish’s hand snatched her arm. He leaned down so that his lips almost touched her cheeks. “You might want to be careful when calling a man an arse, aingeal. It gives him ideas.”
And then without hesitation, Hamish captured her head in his hands and crushed her mouth against his own. Her lips were sweet as honey and softer than anything he had ever known. Anger momentarily forgotten, need took over. Slowly Hamish let his tongue caress her lips and when he felt her resistance soften, he nudged her chin down with his thumb, and let his tongue slip inside before Mairead could guess his intent.
Mairead involuntarily moved closer to his warmth, unaware that her arms were moving to slide around his neck until her fingers delved into his thick hair. She had been kissed before—several times between her attempts to find love and her sister’s continual crusade for her to find a husband—but no one had ever stirred one of the feelings ricocheting through her body that Hamish was creating. Her mind tried to fight the desire flooding through her, but her body refused to obey. The longer his lips caressed her, the less will she had. When she had felt the pressure from his thumb, she could only close her eyes and let her lips part for him.
Hamish felt a shudder the moment Mairead yielded to his desires. Instinctively he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer. His primal urges flared to life and set his body ablaze. All he could think about was what it would feel like to have her in his bed and the velvety warmth of her skin pressed fully against his.
A loud crash of thunder shook the building and yanked him back to reality. With the last of his strength, he lifted his mouth from hers and looked down into her shimmering eyes. The emerald and gold pools reflected passion, along with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability.
Hamish softly caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. He had wanted to kiss her practically since the moment he had seen her and now that he had, he just craved her more. “I knew those lips would be good for kissing,” he murmured.
The words broke the spell he had woven around her and Mairead instinctively took a step back. Her eyes grew wide as she realized just what had happened and with whom. She turned and rushed to the main doors of the great hall. But she did not open them. She just stood there, holding on to the handles, fighting to regain a little of her pride.
She turned around to look over her shoulder to find Hamish staring at her. Encouraged, she mustered her most casual tone and said, “You may have enjoyed that kiss, Hamish, but I have had many others far more pleasant. All I will remember from this experience is the feel of that frightening mess you call a beard.”
Only after he heard the thump of the door did Hamish squeeze his eyes shut. Her little speech did not deceive him. Mairead had enjoyed it every bit as much as he did. And yet, that knowledge was not enough to prevent a surge of irrational jealousy.
Many others, Mairead had said.
Just how many men had she kissed?
* * *
Hamish finished putting a thin layer of oil along the blade of his broadsword and began to stroke the metal back and forth at an angle against the whetstone he had on his lap. To some, polishing a sword was an onerous chore that had to be done, but he found the repetitive movement relaxing, allowing his mind to flow back to the events of the day and plan for the morrow. And tonight, he had much to think about.
Hamish flipped the blade over and pushed thoughts of Mairead aside, and instead tried to focus on dinner and some of the unexpected conclusions he had made. Selah had informed him that Robert was not up to eating, so dinner had been small, limited to only himself, Selah, his nephew, and Mairead. They had dined in the great hall, which little Rab enjoyed. He had finally decided his uncle was someone who could be trusted and had shed his shy personality.
The boy reminded Hamish of Robert as a youth in both looks and mannerisms. He was eager to learn everything and very intelligent, understanding far more than Hamish would have assumed a child could at such a young age. Like Robert did when he was young, Rab used everyone’s spoons, bowls, and plates to build a tower that defied gravity and stood upright until he was forced to dismantle it when the servants brought out their food. Without question, Rab was another true MacBrieve, loving to tinker with anything in arm’s reach while asking questions on random topics.
After what Mairead tried to do in the great hall, it was not a surprise that she took advantage of the child’s inquisitive nature. After some simple prodding, Rab began a string of questions on battles and with Mairead’s help, even asked a few on how Hamish would defend a castle. Fortunately, being only five, Rab easily accepted the insubstantial answers being offered. He then tried to talk about what he knew of castles. Thank goodness Selah had been there to help because in the end, Hamish had learned far more than Mairead had.
The masonry of the great hall and some of the more intricate stonework of the castle were actually designed by Robert. He had apprenticed under another mason, who upon seeing his genius, allowed him to start designing some areas himself and to oversee the construction of the curtain wall. The two had grown very close and when it came time for the mason to leave, he knew that Robert would not be able to leave with him. So he declared Robert’s apprenticeship to be over a year early.
At one time, Robert had planned to build a gatehouse that connected the tower to the curtain wall, but after his father’s death, he had decided to just complete the wall. He wanted Foinaven to be a place that welcomed clansmen, not shut them out. Hamish had downed a full mug of ale hearing that one, wondering how two brothers’ viewpoints could be so different.
Hamish flipped the blade again and reviewed his plan to deal with Ulrick. It was not a very complicated one—he learned from the McTiernays that most good ones weren’t. What they were was inconspicuous. And his definitely was.
A key factor to its success, however, was its initial secrecy. Right now everything Hamish was working on could be considered part of a commander’s responsibility. And while Robert had ultimate authority, if he knew certain aspects too soon, he might overrule Hamish’s ideas and decide they were unnecessary. But with time, Hamish could build the appropriate lure to ensure Robert not only approved of the plan but hopefully was involved.
Until then, he expected Mairead to try various ways to learn his plan. The woman obviously was incredibly stubborn and would not give up on her idea of using Conor’s army. Which meant she was going to be around—a lot.
Balancing his sword on his right knee, Hamish raked his left hand through his loose hair. It was rare that he found himself truly regretting something he did. Life was too short to constantly second-guess one’s decisions and actions. And deep down, he felt no guilt about kissing Mairead. But he did regret it. For now that he had experienced her soft, full lips, all he wanted was to feel and taste them again.
Hamish could not remember ever being plagued with thoughts of a woman to this degree. The only explanation he could muster for the intensity behind his desire was his self-inflicted, prolonged abstention from female companionship. Unfortunately, that was something he would not be able to rectify until back on McTiernay land. He certainly was not going to entertain the notion of finding someone to release his physical frustrations while at Foinaven. Not only was he not sure who would welcome such advances without any promise of commitment, the only woman he desired right now was the one woman he absolutely refused to have.
Hamish put aside the whetstone and tested the blade with a piece of straw, verifying its sharp edge. Grabbing a rag, he dipped it in some water and then in a cup of vinegar, and began to rub the blade, thinking about the dull, tarnished sword one of the young men had left behind in the great hall.
After Mairead had announced she had kissed his beard and not him, he had needed something to do. So he had aided the servants in restoring order to the hall. The purpose had been twofold. He had genuinely wanted to help as he had been the motivation behind Mairead’s request to dismantle all of the tables, but it had also given him the opportunity to casually probe the servants about what they knew of Ulrick, Robert, and their quality of life.
Most said very little, which was fine, for their body language had conveyed more than what their words would have. They did not fear for their positions for they knew neither Robert nor Selah would ever order their removal. And while they spoke little about Robert, Hamish got the impression it was less out of respect and more because Robert was his brother. Ulrick, however, brought a different reaction.
Answers about Ulrick were always brief and very respectful. Not a single person said anything that could not be said in front of Ulrick himself. And that alone proved several things. Even the servants who loved Laurel and Conor mumbled their frustrations when they were not within earshot. These people were afraid to even whisper. Their eyes would dart around before each reply, which only verified what Hamish suspected.
Foinaven had a mole. And probably more than one.
He had considered telling Selah tonight about his thoughts but decided it would have been pointless. She was incapable of believing someone might seek to harm her or Robert, especially after they had shown such kindness to all. Hamish wondered how he had ever loved a woman like her, but he had.
For years, Selah had been the one with whom he had compared every other woman. He had believed her to be his great love. His lost chance at happiness. And she was exactly as he remembered. She spoke the same, moved the same—even had the same sweet, gentle laugh. And yet, he truly was not attracted to her. More so, he could not fathom what it was he had loved about her twelve years ago.
Looking back, he understood why he thought he had loved Selah. At the time, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. With her easy nature and kind spirit, it was natural to think he had been in love. But Hamish now doubted that it was love he had felt. He had just been too young to realize his feelings were mostly of lust and a sprinkling of awe that someone like her would even fancy him.
Hell, maybe he had never really loved any woman. Maybe he was not capable of the emotion. It was not like Selah was the only beautiful lady he had ever met and fallen for. Aye, the McTiernays had an infuriating habit of marrying them before he had a chance to capture their hearts. But he was certain that love existed. He had witnessed couples who were really in love. Conor and Laurel, Cole and Ellenor, even the twins had managed to find enviable women to share their lives. They were partners who challenged each other but were also fiercely loyal and supportive. Their relationships were highly passionate and possessive in nature.
Things he had never experienced with any woman.
Things he knew no woman had ever felt about him.
The soft sound of a door opening and closing stalled the depressing direction of his thoughts. He did not need to turn around to know it was Mairead. Something inside him smiled.
* * *
Mairead stepped inside the large room and froze upon seeing Hamish sitting by the hearth. Part of her wanted to leave and scurry back to her chambers, but another part urged her to go in and sit down anyway. The great hall was her favorite room at Foinaven. Robert had designed the crossed ceiling beams in a pattern to reflect her mother’s favorite mountain, which the castle was named after. Mairead usually finished her day sitting quietly and alone in front of the large fireplace curled up in a chair until the last of embers died out, mulling over her frustrations.
Most of the time they involved Selah and her sister’s refusal to do what was necessary to get the castle staff to do their jobs. Many of them, especially those assigned to the kitchens, were just in the wrong position. Poor Hellie was actually a very good cook, but her timid disposition allowed those around her to ignore her instructions or worse, bully her into following theirs. The situation required Selah’s intervention, but she just would not support Mairead’s solution—replace the servants with ones who could actually do the job. It was the same in positions throughout Foinaven, just in lesser degrees. But the castle and its staff were not on her mind tonight—her thoughts had been consumed by one particularly aggravating man.
After Epiphany, Ulrick and his threats had been all she could think about . . . until Hamish arrived. Since then, she had felt more confused, out of control, and helpless than ever. She also had this strange sensation of hope. That if she could just get Hamish to understand what was needed, all would be well. So far she had tried arguing, silence, yelling, and pleading to persuade Hamish to send for support. She had even resorted to an ultimate low—manipulation. But it was not until dinner tonight did she realize the true folly of her approach.
When Selah asked about the women in Hamish’s life and why he had yet to marry, he had given her an answer, but it had been scant on the details. His personally aimed jests might have fooled her sister, but Mairead sensed that Hamish had been hurt deeply by not just Selah, but several women in his life. And when he nonchalantly discussed the one who had deceived him, Mairead had felt herself grow tense and angry. For that vile woman had done one of the worst things a person can do to another—she had made Hamish doubt himself.
That was why he had been so angry this afternoon with her. Her heart had been in the right place, but from Hamish’s point of view, she had tried to play him for the fool by gathering those boys in just to force him into admitting Foinaven needed additional help. If the positions were reversed, she would have been furious too.
Still, Hamish was wrong about not sending for more help and she had come to the great hall to think of a way to talk to him about the situation. It was clear that he had no intentions of asking Laird McTiernay for help, but Mairead could not understand why. Maybe if she did, then she would be in a better position to make a counterargument, and explain just why Foinaven needed more than just what Hamish alone could provide. If he could grasp just how short-staffed the castle guard was, as well as how inexperienced, Hamish would have to agree that he did not have the means to protect this clan and his brother’s position as leader from Ulrick when he returned.
Mairead stood quietly and watched Hamish work on the long, deadly blade on his lap. The muscles in his back rippled with each stroke. Those women who so callously rejected him were fools. Aye, Hamish was not very handsome to look at, but Mairead had had enough suitors to know that he offered things few men could—protection, strength, and intelligence. Plus, despite what she had said, he could kiss.
He was the first man she had met who possessed all the qualities she wanted in a man. Unfortunately, he also possessed a few aggravating characteristics as well. Still, if he were anyone but Robert’s older brother, she would consider pursuing him as a possible husband—after convincing him to shave off that beard. But their family connection made the idea of them as a couple impossible. Not because her sister was married to his brother, that would be odd but definitely surmountable. His rejection of Foinaven and his family, however, was not. To permanently cut all ties with her sister and her home was . . . unacceptable.
And yet when he had kissed her all that had been forgotten.
She had told Hamish that she had experienced many other kisses that were far more pleasant. That had been a lie. A big one. She had kissed and had been kissed several times over the years, but not one had stirred her emotionally. Until this afternoon, she had found the activity merely a semi-pleasant way to pass the time. She certainly had never understood why some people found kissing so entertaining. Now she fully understood. Hamish’s kiss had created sensations in her body she had never known to exist.
Since his guarding her while she bathed, Mairead had wondered what it would be like to kiss him. It did not mean she was attracted to him, for she never did like beards, but Hamish did have an incredible body that pulled at a woman sexually. Naïvely, she had assumed his kiss would be like others of her experience, but when she had succumbed to his embrace and kissed him back, all thoughts had ceased. She honestly had not been able to think. Gone were Selah and Foinaven and all her responsibilities. Even Ulrick was a distant memory.
Afterward, Mairead had chided herself for assuming Hamish’s kiss would be like any other. Practically from the moment they had met, she had seen the desire in his eyes and it had stirred something primal within her. And when they kissed, her body had come alive to the point that even now, hours later, it continued to yearn for something that could never be.
Hamish dropped the wet rag on the floor and bent over to pick up a thick, dry cloth to finish polishing the blade’s edge. “I know you caught me staring at your sister tonight, but I have no interest in Selah and have not had any for many years.”
Mairead jumped at the sound of Hamish’s voice. She had not realized he had been aware of her presence. If he believed she had been thinking about him and Selah just now, Mairead was not going to correct him. For she was not going to let him know the true direction of her thoughts.
“I believe you,” Mairead finally offered, stepping out from the shadows. And she really did.
He had been staring at Selah through much of dinner. And it had caused Mairead to study him, examining his expression and trying to decipher what he felt for her sister. There was a serious side to Hamish she suspected few saw because they never bothered to look past his flirtatious mask. Like his younger brother’s, Hamish’s mind never stopped. It was constantly working. Examining questions and exploring the possible answers prior to asking them. Mairead had seen it tonight, when he talked about his inability to find love as well as when he had studied her sister. There had been no desire reflected in the depth of his dark green eyes, only curiosity and perhaps a little bewilderment.
“I do not think you would have been happy with Selah. She confuses you. I’m guessing that most women do.”
Hearing the accuracy of her conclusion, Hamish stopped polishing and mumbled, “All men find all women confusing.” Mairead strolled up to his side. “Is there something you need?” he asked, and then made the mistake of glancing at her. Mairead was impossibly beautiful. Her hair was completely free from restraints and the dark gold waves tumbled down her back, drawing attention to her perfectly rounded bottom. Without warning, need tore through him like a dull knife.
Mairead shrugged her shoulders. “I come in here at night sometimes before I retire to think. In this big space, I don’t feel confined and my thoughts seem to find peace where they cannot anywhere else.”
“I can leave,” Hamish said reluctantly, even though he knew it would be a wise move.
He bent over to grab his things and Mairead instinctively reached out to stop him. Her fingers wrapped around his forearm. She could feel the sinew of his muscles and their strength. Her heart began to pound and she quickly released him. Needing to sit down, she took a step to her right and sat in the chair next to his, glad there was a small table situated between them. “Please don’t leave. No one else is ever in here at this time, so I did not expect to find you. But it would be nice to have your company. That is if you don’t mind having mine.”
Hamish did not move. Mairead was hard to predict. She had used deceptive tactics this afternoon, had been dismissive about his kiss, and both manipulative and contemplative during dinner. Now she was being exceptionally pleasant. The woman was just as puzzling as she was alluring. And though Hamish knew he should just take the opportunity and leave, his curiosity forced him to stay. He nodded and resumed polishing his sword.
Mairead used her chin to point at what he was doing and asked, “Is this something you do often?” The work looked not difficult but tedious. And yet, Hamish’s expression was relaxed, not that of one forced to complete a chore. “I just . . . well, you look . . . content.”
Hamish paused for a fraction of a second before continuing to move the cloth along the metal so that it gleamed a little more with each stroke. Only one other woman had recognized the calming effects his nightly ritual had on him. Her ability to see into the real him had almost captured his heart. Opening himself up to Mairead would be a mistake. “No use owning a sword if it is not maintained.”
Mairead tucked her feet underneath her, situated her elbow on the chair’s arm, and then rested her chin on her hand. “I guess at the McTiernays, polishing a sword is something everyone does. Not here. I expect a lot of things are different here at Foinaven.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “Do you miss your home? With the McTiernays, I mean?”
“I do,” Hamish answered honestly. Then he looked her directly in the eye and said, “They trust me.”
Mairead refused to flinch. Instead, she narrowed her own gaze. “I trust you.”
Hamish scoffed and returned his focus to the blade in his lap. “No you don’t.”
Mairead pursed her lips together in frustration. She wanted to argue but couldn’t. “Aye, you’re right,” she grudgingly admitted. “But I want to.”
Hamish inhaled and bit back a curse. Her scent could make the lower regions of a dead man come alive. It was a mixture of fresh meadows and flowers and the effect it had on him was powerful. Just one whiff and not only did he want to bed her, but part of him was compelled to tell her anything. But that part of him was just going to have to wait for satisfaction until he returned to the McTiernays.
He kept his gaze on the blade as he moved the cloth down its length. “But you won’t trust me until I tell you my plan, which negates the value of having someone’s trust.” He paused to look her in the eye. “You and I both know that you don’t want to know the plan, Mairead. You want to control it.”
“That’s not true!”
Hamish kept his gaze steady. “Then trust me.”
Mairead opened and closed her mouth several times before she finally admitted that she could not. “I want to. I really do, but I just cannot fathom how any plan that does not involve confronting Ulrick with an equal, if not more powerful force, will convince him to leave Foinaven and never come back. Strength and power are the only things he respects.”
Hamish put down his rag and set aside the polished sword. He shifted in his chair so that he could give her his undivided attention. Mairead honestly thought a McTiernay army was the solution. What she needed to realize was that he had brought something much better—McTiernay knowledge and experience. “Let’s say I am persuaded to your way of thinking and I send word for Conor to send at least a hundred of his men. What is the plan then?”
Mairead crinkled her brow. What else was there to think about? “That’s it. Nothing more would be needed. A hundred McTiernay soldiers would be more than enough to confront Ulrick when he returns.”
“I agree. However, where exactly do you envision this confrontation taking place?”
Mairead blinked. The answer was obvious. “I expect it would be near or just outside the castle.”
Hamish nodded in agreement. “So we would wait with our hundred men and confront Ulrick next to the village, where anyone in the clan—men, women, even children—could come, see, and possibly get involved, such as those lads training in here today.”
Mairead adjusted her posture, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “We would tell everyone to stay away.”
“I’m sure we would and let’s say that even worked. A simple instruction is issued, all obey, and not a single soul from the village gets involved when Ulrick arrives,” Hamish stated without pushback. “What’s next? How do you see Ulrick reacting to seeing a hundred McTiernay soldiers outside of Foinaven?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m asking you to think it through. Do you really believe Ulrick—someone who is battle-seasoned and power-hungry—would yield without a fight? That he would see our borrowed army and then simply call out and have his newly attained mercenaries drop their weapons and surrender without even trying to attain his goal? Do you think those mercenaries would leave without payment? No, I can see by your expression you know as well as I do that would not happen. If Ulrick and his men were confronted in such a way, there would be a battle.” Hamish paused and pointed to the village located just on the other side of the great hall’s walls. “And it would not just be Ulrick and a handful of mercenaries fighting experienced McTiernay warriors. Remember many of your clansmen ride with Ulrick and when they die—because many would—you would have their wives and children to console and take care of afterward.”
Mairead’s shoulders slumped as she envisioned the horrific picture Hamish was painting. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
“That is why I am not resisting Robert’s ‘no bloodshed’ request. That route you so desperately want me to take only holds misery for everyone.”
Tears formed in Mairead’s eyes, which had grown dark with fear. “He knew this,” she said so softly, Hamish could barely hear her. “Ulrick knew that we would never risk so many lives. We are doomed.”
Hamish arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought that.”
Mairead shook her head and stared at her fingers tightly interlaced. “What can be done?” she asked rhetorically.
Hamish leaned forward and when she finally looked at him, he let his smile grow into a wide grin. “Well, I learned from the McTiernays that you never fight those you can outsmart.”
Mairead bit her bottom lip. Her furrowed brow indicated her lingering doubt, but her hazel eyes brightened. She still believed there was hope. “There is a way to outsmart Ulrick?”
Hamish shrugged. He believed he could outsmart pretty much any man. He smacked his hands on his knees, then rose to his feet, picked up his sword, and gathered all of his things into a sack. “You will have to wait and see.”
Mairead blinked. “What does that mean?”
Hamish slung the sack over his left shoulder. “I mean that for the first time I see in your eyes a glimmer of trust. You are finally starting to believe that I might have thought this through and have a plan. That it’s conceivable I can do more than just wave a heavy sword around. That I just might be intelligent, as well as arrogant, and know what I’m doing. All you want now is proof. But I’m not going to let you in on my plan. I think I’ll just keep that to myself.”
Mairead’s mouth opened and closed several times before she realized what she was doing and clamped her lips shut. She hated that he was right. She hated that she had no clue what his plan could be, and mostly she hated that there was no way she was going to convince him to tell her. But she was going to try anyway.
Mairead stood up and stared at him right in the eye. “An honorable man, Hamish MacBrieve, would not keep such a plan a secret, knowing that my family and clan were at stake.”
Hamish slid his free hand up along her arm to her shoulder and then gently cupped the back of her neck before leaning down. “And if I am not an honorable man, Mairead MacMhathain,” he whispered into her ear, “then what is to stop me from kissing you and doing possibly much more?”
A quiver of desire went down Mairead’s back as she held her breath. Hamish was doing it again. He was making her lose control, focus, and all ability to think. And he had not even kissed her yet. This was exactly what she had promised herself she would not let happen again.
And she was going to keep that vow.
Mairead mustered all her willpower and tilted her head toward his. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and then whispered back, “There’s your kiss. And just because you refuse to tell me your plan does not mean I won’t find out what it is. I may be naïve to the ways of battle, but I am an extremely clever, not to mention stubborn woman. I will haunt your every move and I will learn just what it is.”
Hamish backed up a step and laughed out loud, praying it disguised his racing heart. “I wish you luck with your endeavors because I imagine it will be very entertaining to watch you try.”
Then without another word, he headed for the great hall’s main doors and exited them without looking back even once.