A Highlander's Second Chance: Highland Temptations Page 4

  She gaped at him. “You broke the lock?”

  He shook his head, extending one hand. When he opened his fingers, she found the thing nestled in his enormous palm. “I merely opened it. I did not break it. Still, it is not doing you much good. You will wish to improve this if you hope to keep your girls safe here.”

  Her cheeks flushed. And she’d hoped to take charge from the first. “I believe you came to train my pupils in the art of combat. Not to go over my methods and point out where you believe I have fallen short.”

  He took this well enough, offering a crooked smile. “Aye, that is what brings me here. I only wished to be of help.”

  She took the lock from him, jerking her hand away as if his skin burned hers. “I would like you to keep your thoughts to yourself. As it is, I would have thanked you much better had you remained where you were and not come here at all.”

  She watched closely, waiting to see how he would react to this. Such a large man, he would easily be able to inflict pain or harm with a mere flick of his wrist. While no one would ever call the young women living behind the convent walls weak, they were still a great deal smaller than this giant.

  She was taking a greater risk, pushing him so, but she simply had to know what her girls might fall prey to. Would he abuse them in some fashion? Would he give them reason to fear him? If that appeared to be the case, she would order him off the grounds in no time at all.

  In fact, part of her hoped he would do something rash and dangerous, giving her reason to force him out, with weapon in hand, if necessary.

  He gave her no such satisfaction. “Allow me to inform you that this was not a journey I took happily. In fact, were it not for the presence of my wife’s sister, I might not have come at all.”

  “Oh, yes. Mary Kendrick. A fine young woman, I must say.”

  He nodded. “Aye, she is at that.”

  Ailsa waited to see if he would say anything more, but he seemed to prefer keeping his thoughts to himself. She would never complain about this, as she had little time for those who enjoyed prattling on about things of little importance.

  Yet that was the only positive quality she could attribute to the stranger, who she very much would have preferred to never meet at all. “I do not believe we need you here,” she informed him, folding her arms.

  He had her at a disadvantage, wearing nothing but her bedclothes, but she’d hardly had time to prepare herself for visitors. If anyone were to be embarrassed, it was he, not she.

  And he did appear to be embarrassed, averting his eyes whenever they fell upon her. If she had not known better, she would think him rather shy, retiring. One would never imagine a man of his size being afraid to look upon a woman in her nightclothes.

  Staring at the floor, he replied, “It appears ye need a great deal more than my assistance, considering how easy it was for me to find my way inside your walls. McTavish believed I would do a fine job of it, and I intend to do so.”

  She fairly boiled over at his tone of voice. So knowing. One would believe him to be her father, speaking to her that way.

  He continued, unaware or uncaring of how he affected her. “If I am to do so, I cannot have ye ordering me about, telling me what to do. I do not take well to such behavior.”

  “Nor do I,” she replied, glaring. As if he were the one with any right to complain about the situation. “I am in charge of this place, including the lives and safety of the young women. It is I who am responsible for them, and it is I who have final say in their training and the missions which they undertake. Neither you nor anyone else will stand in the way of this. Do you understand?”

  He nodded. “I ken verra well.”

  “So you agree, then. You will not interfere?”

  He shook his head. “I will not interfere. So long as ye do not interfere with my instruction. If Mary is to be here, I wish to be certain she has everything she needs to avail herself well when the time comes.”

  She thought she was beginning to understand. There was much more to him than just his surprisingly large form, more than the scar running down the side of his face, which she could only imagine did little to attract favorable attention from either women or children. One could take a glance and imagine a man who did not need to do much thinking, one who would allow their fists to settle their problems.

  The fools who took him for some mindless beast would be mistaken. There was a great deal more to him. Under other circumstances, she thought she might find this quite interesting, indeed.

  There must be something said for a man who would take familial responsibilities seriously, she believed.

  With this in mind, she softened just a bit. “How long have you ridden? Are you in need of food, water?”

  He appeared surprised, raising his eyes so that they would meet hers. “Thank ye, but no. I am most in need of sleep at the moment. I can start first thing in the morning, if ye wish.”

  “So soon?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  “There is no reason to tarry, is there? I came here to do a job, and I wish to do it well.”

  He had already forgotten. She held back a sigh, but barely. “Yes, but you will recall my telling you that it is I who will make decisions. I decide when your instruction will commence. I believe it would do good to learn more of our ways and the training which the women have already been through before you apply your instruction. Do you not believe it would serve them better if you are aware of how far they have already come before teaching them more?”

  He hesitated.

  She pressed on. “Perhaps you are not as suited for this position as Douglas assured me you are?”

  He lowered his brow, his eyes narrowing in a rather dangerous manner. A tremor of misgiving ran through her. Perhaps she had pushed too far.

  Just as swiftly as a cloud passed over the sun, so did his expression change. “As ye see fit,” he decided. “Ye are correct, naturally. It would be better for me to know who I am training and how much they need to learn.”

  She could hardly believe he made it that easy for her. Was this a positive sign of things to come? For the first time since a stranger had first darkened the doorway of her chambers, she felt as if this might not be so difficult.

  * * *

  By the time the cock crowed, Ailsa was waiting outside Clyde’s chamber door. He was at the other end of the convent, away from the girls. It was good thinking on her part, having a room prepared for him so soon after Douglas McTavish’s visit, though she had never dreamed one would make use of it so soon.

  Perhaps this Clyde McMannis was as eager to have the job done as she was to see him leave for good.

  If he believed himself worthy of being allowed to lie about the place, he would surely not look kindly upon what she was about to do. She raised her fist, prepared to rap on the door and alert him to the start of a new day of work.

  Which was why the opening of the door before she had the chance to do so was a surprise.

  How had she already forgotten just how very large he was? She supposed it would take some getting used to. As it was, she was almost certain stammering and averting her eyes would be seen as an insult, which was the last impression she wished to give the man.

  No sense in upsetting someone who could likely tear her to bits if he took it into his mind to do so. Regardless of whether or not he seemed kind and thoughtful, he was still a stranger. Strangers could not be trusted so easily.

  She managed to recover her senses quickly. “Good morning to you. I did not expect to see you so early.”

  “And yet I find ye here at my chamber door.”

  “My chamber door,” she was quick to remind him. Yes, let him see now, early on. This was not his home. This great work was not his work. It was hers. It was her responsibility. He was only there to aid them.

  He lifted a brow. “McTavish did not inform me that ye had taken ownership of the convent,” he said, his face expressionless except for that single arched brow.

  In spite of t
he innocence in his voice, his meaning was clear, and Ailsa was not impressed with what she imagined he believed was cleverness. So that was to be the way of it. And just when she had been about to decide he was perhaps not as terrible as she’d imagined.

  “I do not own the convent,” she informed him, all sweetness. She would not allow him to cause her to lose her temper, at least not yet. There was quite a lot to learn about him, and her temper would only make it more difficult to do so. “Yet I have lived here for nearly a year, while they who provide the place, our food and clothing and goods, assured me I might make it my home so long as the girls are well-prepared.”

  His mouth opened as though he wished to ask a question, but it snapped shut a moment later as if he thought better of it. She could just imagine what he had in mind. Who provided entry to the convent? Who saw to their comfort and sustenance?

  She would not answer, for she did not know the answer. Not entirely.

  “Come, I plan to break my fast. Will you join me?”

  He nodded and silently followed her down the long, dark corridor lit only by a handful of torches placed against both walls. “I imagine your young ladies care for the convent and the grounds,” he observed as they walked.

  “Yes, they do. The nature of our work hardly allows us to have outsiders in to perform the cooking, the cleaning. It is good for the girls. Their duties provide discipline outside their daily training.”

  “And what does that training consist of?”

  There was no stopping her from smiling with pride. This was, after all, her favorite subject to speak of. “They are instructed in many areas. Proper English, for instance. Some of them came to me with heavy brogues, but I am working them out with time and patience. Many of them do not know how to read or write, and they receive instruction in both as needed. Anything it takes for them to more easily disguise themselves in the middle of English society.”

  He made a thoughtful noise but remained silent. She could not help but wonder what he was thinking.

  They descended a wide set of stairs, where two of the newest members of their flock were scrubbing on hands and knees. Ailsa favored them with an appreciative smile which seemed to lighten their spirits considerably before she continued.

  “Along with this,” she explained, “they learn the sorts of skills a spy needs if they are to be successful. They are thoroughly trained in how to decipher many common codes should they intercept messages, and how to create codes of their own should the need arise. They are instructed in the art of subterfuge, how to successfully avoid arousing suspicion. They are taught how to successfully lie.”

  It did not come as a surprise when he chuckled. “Lying is something which needs to be taught?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes, but he could not see it as he walked behind her. “Yes, lying is something which must be taught if it is to be practiced well. It is one thing to be able to create a lie, but another to maintain a lie under questioning. Should any of them be questioned, they must know how to defend the lies they have told without becoming hopelessly tangled.”

  “I see, forgive me. I did not mean to make light of what ye have taught them.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She came to a stop on the ground level, where before her stretched the courtyard. The girls would be performing their morning chores, and no training would take place until their morning meal. Craning her neck—truly, speaking with the man would leave her with great soreness unless she began standing on a chair to lessen the difference in their heights—she stared coldly up at him.

  “You laughed, which means you took lightly what I have declared my life’s work, to teach these girls. I do not take that well, sir, and it would be best for you to know it now so we might avoid uncomfortable situations such as this in the future.”

  This, at last, seemed to get through to him. His face fell, then she asked herself if she had truly wounded him somehow. Good. Let him remember in the future what awaited him should he take them as nothing more than an amusing diversion. Let him understand just a small bit of what it meant to go against her. Let him see she was not to be taken lightly. None of them were.

  He was first to lower his gaze, bringing to mind a child caught in a naughty act. “I beg your pardon, truly. I will take care not to belittle your efforts again.”

  She could not help but feel slightly gratified by how quickly he had come around. It was an effort to avoid smiling in triumph. She settled for nodding, turning away before muttering, “See to it that you do.”

  Perhaps it would not be so difficult bringing him heel, after all.

  5

  Were the situation any different, Clyde thought he might find himself appreciating everything this woman had done to see to it her girls learned what they needed to learn. Truly, she seemed quite devoted to caring for them, and to providing everything they needed as they ventured into the world and set about reclaiming that which belonged to Scotland.

  Yet the situation was not different, and he cared little for the instruction currently underway. Mary was there somewhere. Mary was all that mattered.

  Search as he might, his eyes going over every single face they passed as they made their way to the dining hall, he did not find her. It occurred to him that she would appear quite different than she had the last time he set eyes on her. She’d hardly been a young woman, all elbows and knees and wide, tearful eyes as she bade goodbye to her sister and the bairns.

  Certainly, time would have changed her. But he felt he would know her, just the same. Perhaps a fanciful notion, but he could not escape it.

  The dining hall was larger than the entire MacIntosh house, which was large in its own right. He tipped his head back to gaze at the high ceiling, the vaulted archways. Difficult to imagine, the work it took to assemble so much stone in just such a fashion that would remain standing when stacked together. Such skilled workers had always interested him.

  Ailsa caught sight of his fascinated exploration and grinned. “You find it impressive, then,” she murmured with a smile.

  He returned her smile, noting the pride in her voice. As though she had anything to do with the building of such a structure. As if any of this was hers.

  And yet…did he not feel a swell of pride while looking over the wide swath of land belonging to Clan MacIntosh? Though he was not a clansman by blood and the land did not belong to him? Still, he was proud of it, of the work he’d done to bring it back to its former glory.

  He did wish he had asked Douglas to explain the situation a bit better. Why was she here? Why her, rather than some man? He had no doubt that a woman could avail herself in battle, though he had never seen one do it before.

  But what she spoke of—lies, codes—told him there was more to her than met the eye. These were not the sorts of skills about which one learned all of the sudden. Certainly, they did not learn them well enough to teach others unless they’d had quite a bit of practice themselves.

  The room was set with one long table after another, wooden benches running up and down both sides. It seemed quite a large number of nuns had once called it their home. He took a seat at the table which ran along the front of the room, opposite Ailsa.

  She looked up, over his head, and smiled. “Ah, there she is. The one you have been looking for all this time.”

  It hardly thrilled him that the woman saw through him so easily, but when he looked over his shoulder and found himself face-to-face with her once again, it hardly mattered.

  For it was not just Mary he saw. It was her sister. His Janet. She was the very image of Janet.

  For her part, Mary did appear pleased to see him. “You look well,” she murmured, placing a bowl of porridge before him with a smile and a brief pat on the back of his hand.

  He could not find the words. He had not expected her to look so much like Janet. It was as if she had returned to him, though he knew this was not possible. How had he never imagined the sisters taking after each other?

  Ailsa clea
red her throat. “Is this not to your liking?” she asked, then clicked her tongue. “Naturally, you will need a great deal more sustenance, a man of your size.”

  He stammered, unable to reply thanks to the utter surprise he had just experienced. He heard Ailsa instructing Mary as if from afar, telling her something about bread and meat and potatoes.

  Though in his state, he would have eaten anything they’d placed before him, and would not have tasted a single bite.

  When they were alone again, Ailsa leaned forward with her elbows on the table. Her sudden movement was enough to jar him from his state of shock, and he noticed for the first time that she was not an altogether unattractive woman. He supposed that were she not so heavily involved in training her girls, she might have time to care a bit more for herself.

  Her shapeless brown dress was worn at the elbows, frayed at the collar and cuffs. A simple garment. It appeared as though all women behind those walls dressed and lived simply. Yet it did little to disguise how bonny she might have been were she not always frowning, always stern.

  She turned her head, causing the braid she wore over her shoulder and down her front to shift, and he took note of a mark which extended from beneath the neck of her dress to just below her jaw. It covered nearly one entire side of her neck and throat, the color of wine.

  She caught him staring. When her sharp gaze landed upon him, he looked away but noticed her rearranging herself out of the corner of his eye. Covering her throat.

  “The sight of her unsettled you quite a bit, I noticed.” She lifted a cup of water to her lips, observing him as she drank.

  He took this for what it was, a way of changing the subject, of making him feel uncomfortable while she recovered from a brief discomfort of her own.

  He finally found his voice. “She looks a great deal like her sister. In fact, for a moment…”