Highlander's Reckoning (The Sinclair Brothers #3) (6 page)

“Shut the door behind you,” Daniel said to Kennedy
and his man Malcolm. He was seated behind what had been Kennedy’s desk in the
private study near the top of the tower keep.

He gestured for the two men to take a seat before
him. Kennedy acquiesced smoothly, but Malcolm eyed Daniel before sitting.

Without preamble, Daniel launched into his speech,
addressing Kennedy.

“I’d like you to return to Dunure, Laird. I’m sure
your people would be most grateful to have you among them again, and I have
things under control here.”

In the week since his marriage, Daniel had indeed
made strides in winning the trust and respect of the people of Loch Doon, as
well as tightening the operations of the castle. He’d gathered that Gilbert
Kennedy wasn’t the most observant or fastidious of men. Daniel had spent much
of his time increasing the training of the men of the castle as well as going
over the ledgers for errors in calculations. Even if Kennedy was completely
loyal to Robert the Bruce, the man was ill-suited to keep the King’s castle in
order.

Thankfully, Daniel saw little evidence that Kennedy
was openly colluding with the English against the Bruce. The fact remained,
however, that he had paid Raef Warren, one of Scotland’s greatest enemies, an
exorbitant sum to avoid having the castle razed. Kennedy had also continued to
pay taxes to England’s Edward II.

Dunbraes, Warren’s stronghold, wasn’t far from here,
and the bastard often had his army run drills near the village just to frighten
and terrorize the people of Loch Doon. So far, it had worked. But if the
Bruce’s plan to secure Loch Doon and eventually lay siege to Dunbraes went
right, Raef Warren would finally be stopped. And the bastard would finally pay
for all the harm and strife he had caused Scotland.

Daniel refocused his thoughts on the two men in
front of him. Malcolm looked shocked, but Kennedy seemed unfazed.

“I suspected you might send me away shortly after
the wedding,” Kennedy said evenly. “It never does well to have too many cooks
in the kitchen, or too many lords in the castle, as the case may be.”

Daniel inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank
you for understanding. And know that I will tell King Robert of your
cooperation.”

“But Laird,” Malcolm sputtered, “what about all the
Kennedys who have come to call Loch Doon home? Are we to be sent away too?”

Daniel regarded Kennedy’s man for a moment. He was
thin and narrow-shouldered, with a nondescript mop of brown hair on his head. Though
he looked befuddled at the moment, Malcolm normally had the air of a keen
observer.

“Just to be clear, I am not sending your Laird away,
Malcolm,” Daniel said levelly. “I’m asking him to return to his keep, where he
may better serve his people. Any Kennedys who moved to Loch Doon with you are
more than welcome to stay, or if they prefer, they can return to Dunure or
Turnberry with you.”

Daniel shifted his attention from Malcolm to Kennedy
as he spoke, watching the man’s face closely.

Thankfully, he saw no resentment or cunning there.
Kennedy nodded and sighed. Though it was an honor to be asked to run the
Bruce’s ancestral home in his stead and would be a prick to the pride to have
that honor taken away and bestowed upon another, Kennedy looked more relieved
than anything.

Malcolm, on the other hand, frowned. “I’ll not be
leaving, Laird. I’d like to stay and make sure everything continues on as you
would wish it in your absence.”

Daniel suppressed a curse. Despite swearing fealty
to him, Malcolm was clearly still more loyal to Kennedy. He couldn’t simply
order the man to give up that loyalty, though. He would have to cajole it out
of him with some choice words.

“I’m grateful you wish to stay, Malcolm,” Daniel
said smoothly. “I have much need for a man like you. I still have a great deal
to learn about Loch Doon, and you must be very knowledgeable and observant to
have earned a position as your Laird’s right-hand man.”

That seemed to affect Malcolm somewhat. He sat a
little straighter in his chair, though his mouth was still slightly turned
down. Daniel would have to keep working on him.

“When do you wish me to depart?” Kennedy said.

“As soon as possible,” Daniel replied with a rueful
quirk of his mouth to soften his words. “This morning, perhaps, if you can be
ready.”

“Very well, my lord,” Kennedy said wearily. Though
Daniel had initially worried that Kennedy would be more of an obstacle, he was
proving to be quite acquiescent.

Unlike his daughter
,
he thought sourly.

Rona was as flighty as ever. He’d barely caught a
handful of glimpses of the lass since they spoke their wedding vows a week ago.
Whenever he tried to confront her about her evasive behavior or remind her that
they still needed to consummate their marriage, she would throw him into yet
more confusion with her responses.

Sometimes she was dismissive, though he often
thought he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes. Other times, like when he had
cornered her in the stairwell after she’d vanished from the castle for several
hours, she’d crossed her arms and hardened her face, refusing to answer his
direct questions. Who was this strange lass to whom he was married? And what
was she hiding?

Daniel stood as a way to dismiss Kennedy and
Malcolm. They followed suit, and he walked them out of the study. Kennedy
excused himself from Daniel’s presence to set about preparing to depart in the
next few hours.

Malcolm moved to follow his Laird, but Daniel
motioned for him to stay. He wanted to keep Malcolm by his side, ask the thin
young man questions, and let him explain some of the nuances of the castle’s
community. Though he hoped to learn a bit more about the castle’s inhabitants
and their habits, he mostly intended to put Malcolm at ease and bring him into
his trust—if he could. Changing leadership at such a large stronghold wasn’t
easy. Daniel only hoped Malcolm would be as malleable as Kennedy.

Just before noon, Daniel joined Kennedy and a small
crowd of servants at Loch Doon’s docks.

“Thank you all for seeing me off,” Kennedy said in a
loud voice to those gathered. Daniel scanned the crowd, but he didn’t see Rona
yet.

“I am grateful to the new keeper of Loch Doon for
graciously allowing me to rejoin my wife and clan at Dunure. I give him and my
daughter blessings as the new lord and lady of the castle.”

As Kennedy spoke, Daniel caught a flash of red hair
moving through the crowd. Rona pushed her way to where Daniel and Kennedy
stood. Her face was strained with distress, and she hugged her father fiercely.

“I’ll miss you, Father,” she said quietly, though
Daniel was close enough to overhear.

“Hmph. You’ll miss getting your way with me, more
likely,” Kennedy said gruffly, though he hugged his daughter back.

After a long moment, Rona stepped back to her
father’s other side. With one last wave and a cheer from the crowd in response,
Kennedy stepped onto the boat that waited to take him to the loch’s shoreline.
Daniel reached across the gap between the boat and the dock for a firm arm
clasp with the departing Laird.

But just as Daniel was about to release the man’s
arm, Kennedy pulled him in for a private word.

“I’ve never had a handle on the girl, my lord. She
always seemed to outsmart me, or at least outlast me with that iron will of
hers. She’s far too wild for a lady. I just hope you can rein her in.”

With that, the boat pushed off and Kennedy gave a
final wave. As the residents of the castle started filtering back to their
tasks, he turned toward the yard, chewing on what his wife’s father had said.

Glancing over his shoulder, he realized that Rona still
stood on the docks, looking out at the diminishing outline of the boat carrying
her father away. He decided that it was best to give her a moment of privacy.
Though he hadn’t seen a great deal of affection between Kennedy and his
daughter, the lass seemed distraught at his sudden departure.

Daniel made his way back to the study, but when he
arrived in the small but well-appointed room, he couldn’t resist the urge to
look down at the docks again. He pulled the furs back from the window and
instantly made out Rona’s slim form and red hair. She still stood on the docks,
looking off toward the west where the village lay.

But then, instead of turning back to the castle, she
spoke to a boatman and boarded one of the small rowboats moored at the docks.
The boat disembarked from the castle, headed for the village.

Just then, Malcolm poked his head through the study
door.

“You asked for a report on the crumbling stone along
the northeast wall, my lord?” Malcolm said.

“Aye,” Daniel replied, still watching Rona out the
window. “Does Lady Rona go to the village often, Malcolm?” he said as lightly
as possible.

“Aye, my lord. The boatmen hardly pay her any mind,
so frequently is she among them.”

“She probably just enjoys gazing at the fine cloth
sold at the weaver’s, I’m sure.”

Malcolm’s brow furrowed. “Nay, my lord, I doubt
that. Lady Rona is well known to prefer simple clothes of stout wool for the
most part.”

“Then she goes to the village to ride a favorite
horse of hers? Or perhaps to visit a friend?”

“Not that I know of, my lord.”

Daniel did his best to smooth his features before
turning away from the window. “How strange,” he said casually. “Now, about that
crumbling section of the curtain wall.”

Malcolm began explaining the location of the rock
that needed repair, but Daniel barely heard him over the sound of his blood
pounding in his veins.

Could the lass be cuckolding him?

Was that why she was so hesitant about consummating
their marriage? If she wasn’t a virgin, he would surely realize it, and she
would be found out. It also explained why she was always sneaking off to the
village for hours at a time.

Gilbert Kennedy’s words came back to him. The man
had been too permissive with the lass, letting her gallivant freely around the
castle and the village. Now he had offloaded his overindulged daughter onto
Daniel. Had Daniel been too lenient as well? Had he allowed her to continue
some illicit affair right under his nose, all the while letting her evade his
questions and avoid their wedding consummation?

If it were all true, then Daniel had been lulled by
her pretty face and figure, by the heat he felt between them. But if the lass
was experienced, could her reaction to him, which made it clear she was
attracted to him, be an act too? That thought sent Daniel’s blood boiling.

No more. He would have the truth from her, one way
or another. And he would not be like her father, unable to control her. Daniel
was not the kind of man to forgive a trespass on his authority. Nor would he be
made to look the fool by his own wife.

He set his teeth, preparing for battle.

Raef Warren eyed the white chess pieces arrayed on
the board in front of him. Slowly, he reached out and placed a finger atop one
of his pawns, which was carved to look like a man-at-arms. His eyes darted
between the white squares checkering the board and the red ones, rapidly
considering his opponent’s next several moves. Then he withdrew his finger from
the pawn and instead moved his knight.

Raef didn’t bother walking around to the other side
of the board. Instead, he simply rotated the entire thing so that the red
pieces now sat before him, waiting on his command. Just as he was about to move
the red-painted rook, a soft knock came on his study door.

“Enter,” he said with annoyance.

Gordon, his captain of the guard, poked his head
inside. “We have had some news, my lord.”

Raef waved him in and reluctantly turned away from
the chess game. “From King Edward, I hope,” he said, unconcerned to show his
impatience in front of Gordon. The man was loyal—and about as witless as they
came. He kept the men in line, though, and was good for running simple errands
like delivering news to his lord.

“Nay, my lord, there is still no word from the
King.”

Raef frowned. “Out with it then, man.”

Gordon, the big, hulking idiot, stood uncertainly
only about a foot inside the study door. He shifted his sizable weight from one
foot to the other under Raef’s sharp gaze.

“Our scouts to the northwest have noticed some
unusual activity around Loch Doon.”

Raef immediately straightened, forgetting his
annoyance at being pulled away from his game and at Edward II’s lack of
communication.

“They report that the castle and village have been
in a kerfuffle, first with preparations for the arrival of someone important,
and then with changes inside the castle.”

Raef’s stomach twisted in a combination of
excitement and panic. “The Bruce has returned?”

Strategically, this could be the perfect time for
Raef to make a definitive strike against the Scottish rebel scum. Their
leader’s ancestral home was only a half-day’s ride from where Raef currently
sat inside the walls of Dunbraes Castle. If he were able to lay siege to Loch
Doon, that gem of a stronghold, and either destroy it or capture it for the
English, he might finally earn the Barony that had been denied him for so long.

But of course, such a command to strike at Loch Doon
and Robert the Bruce, the slippery son of a bitch who had dragged this
rebellion on, would have to come from Edward II himself. And the whelp King was
proving to be more fop than Hammer of the Scots, the title his father had
earned for relentlessly crushing those barbarian people into dust.

If only Edward I still lived to carry on his task of
eradicating those savages to the north. Instead, the old codger had died just
as Raef was making a name and reputation for himself as a scourge to Scotland.
Now he and all of England were saddled with an ineffectual, art-loving King who
cared more about clothes than finishing the task of bringing Scotland and its
barbarian inhabitants to heel.

And besides, even if he did get the order to attack
Loch Doon, he was now in greater danger here in an English-held Lowland castle
if the Bruce were near. The Bruce could be gearing up to attack Dunbraes. Raef
had to think defensively as well as offensively, just as he did when he played
himself in chess.

Raef’s ability to hold the Scottish-built castle was
a constant poke in the eye to the Scottish rebels. The Bruce had made his
intentions to retake the Lowlands and Borderlands clear—over the last year, the
rebels had attacked English-held garrisons, keeps, and castles all along the
Borderlands. And the Bruce meant business. Instead of simply holding those
structures for the Scottish cause, he was having them razed to the ground so
that they could never be recaptured by the English.

Dunbraes had already withstood several attempted
sieges in the five years since Raef had been charged with holding the castle.
Was the Bruce himself preparing to attempt one final siege?

All this flitted through Raef’s mind in a heartbeat,
as if he were merely assessing his options on the chessboard.

Gordon cleared his throat nervously, clearly
reluctant to answer Raef’s question.

“Speak, man! Has the Bruce returned to Loch Doon?”

“Nay, our scouts don’t believe so, my lord. Despite
all the excitement, no army, or even a small band of men, has shown up. And no
procession has arrived either. But…”

“What?” Raef said, trying to keep from unleashing
his temper on Gordon, though the man deserved it.

“One scout heard a rumor that there is a new lord at
Loch Doon, a…a Highlander by his dress. He wears a red kilt with thin lines of
green and blue in it.”

A Highlander. In a red kilt.

No, it couldn’t be.

In a flash, Raef spun back to his chessboard and
slammed both fists into it, sending the red and white pieces flying. As the
pieces landed on the floor and rolled at his feet, he smoothed his sandy blond
hair back from his forehead, though one of his hands remained clenched.

After a few deep breaths, Raef turned back to
Gordon. The hulking coward had taken a step back from Raef’s rage so that he
stood against the closed study door.

“What of Kennedy?” Raef said calmly.

“He is to be sent away, if he hasn’t been already.”

Raef could feel the knuckles on his left hand going
white, even as he smoothed his hair again with his right hand. Like Gordon,
Gilbert Kennedy was a fool. But also like Gordon, the ineffectual Laird and
keeper of Loch Doon had been under Raef’s control. Not only had Kennedy paid a
small fortune—of the Bruce’s money—as a settlement to prevent Raef’s men from
laying siege to Loch Doon, but he also paid taxes to ensure the castle’s
safety
,
as Raef had explained to him.

Now Kennedy was out, to be replaced by…

If he let himself finish the thought with Gordon in
the room, he very well might strangle his hapless captain of the guard.

“Double the number of scouts in the northwest,” he
said to the man instead. “I want daily reports on Loch Doon. Can you manage
that, Captain?”

Gordon nodded quickly. At Raef’s wave of dismissal,
he slipped out the study door.

A Sinclair. A Sinclair now ruled Loch Doon instead
of Raef’s lackey. A Sinclair was now holding the nearest castle to Dunbraes. A
Sinclair was now no doubt plotting against Raef.

And yet, a Sinclair was also now within striking
distance.

Raef bent to pick up the red and white chess pieces
that littered the floor. His father had given him this fine set, each piece
carved carefully out of walrus tusk. Half of the pieces remained tusk-white,
while the other half were painted blood red.

His father had taught him how to play on this
magnificent set. Of course, within a matter of months, Raef was besting him at
the game. Likewise, it had been Raef’s strategic mind and clever maneuverings
that had distinguished him among the English nobility as a tactician and
military wit. Such skill had earned him Dunbraes and granted him the
opportunity to lead a campaign all the way into northern Scotland for the
Battle of Roslin.

And if it weren’t for those bloody, barbarian
Sinclairs, he would have won that battle and secured himself a position at the
King’s side. But somehow they’d managed to outflank him, sending him and what
was left of his men back to the Borderlands like whipped dogs.

And then…

Raef ground his teeth as he placed the white queen
back on the board.

And then, Robert Sinclair had stolen his intended
bride, Alwin Hewett. She was an English virgin, meant for him, but that filthy
savage had soiled her, rutting with her and turning her into a debased Scot
like Sinclair himself. And he had even thwarted Raef’s efforts to have her
murdered so that her death could be used as a rallying cry for the English.
Instead, Raef was made to look the fool, his bride married to a Scotsman who
plowed her, ruined her, sullied her with his savageness.

Then there was his sister. If he were honest with
himself, he cared less about the loss of Jossalyn than he had about the Hewett
girl. Jossalyn had always been an annoyance at best, though she did serve well
as a bargaining chip for him to gain wealth and position. But another Sinclair
snatched her away before Raef could marry her off for his betterment.

Being unburdened of his cowering sister, who
insisted on interacting with the sickly and ill in her foolish attempts to heal
them, was something of a relief. He no longer had to share a roof with someone
who could bring disease and death everywhere she went. But to be bested again
by a Sinclair—he nearly spit on the floor of his study at the thought.

That made three times the Sinclairs had embarrassed
him. But it wouldn’t happen again. Those Highland barbarians were clearly thick
as thieves with the Bruce. To defeat this Sinclair at Loch Doon would not only
soothe his ego, but it would also be a blow against the rebel pretender-King.

A thought skittered across his mind as he righted
the last piece on the board. Kennedy had a daughter. Perhaps she had something
to do with the appearance of a Sinclair at Loch Doon. A marriage alliance,
perhaps?

If those bloody Highlanders could use his women
against him, perhaps he could return the favor. He would have to get word to
his man inside the castle though, which was always a delicate and
time-consuming business. Not even Gordon knew about him. Raef always liked to
keep a few surprises tucked away.

He picked up the red rook from the board and
examined it, contemplating his next move. This rook was carved differently than
the white one. The rook’s eyes bulged wildly under his helm. Though he
brandished a sword like his white counterpart, this one’s teeth sank into the
shield he held in front of his chest in a look of utter battle lust and
madness. The red rook was called the berserker rook for a reason.

As a boy, Raef had always loved this piece. His
father had told him to identify with the king piece, for he must protect it as
he would protect himself. But Raef’s style wasn’t as conservative as his
father’s. Instead, he had sent his red berserker rook out relentlessly,
overpowering and outmaneuvering his opponents with a combination of the
berserker’s wild-eyed bloodlust and his own calculated assault.

Setting the piece back down, Raef went to his desk
and withdrew a piece of parchment and a quill. With a quick dip of the quill
into his ink pot, he began writing a coded message to his man inside Loch Doon.