The MacLeod Pirate
Sinclair Jewels
Book Four
© Copyright 2019 by Caroline Lee
Text by Caroline Lee
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition December 2019
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Caroline Lee
The Sinclair Jewels Series
The Sinclair Hound
The Mackenzie Regent
The Sutherland Devil
The MacLeod Pirate
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Dedication
For Alyssa, without whom this book wouldn’t have happened. Thank you, my friend!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Caroline Lee
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Chapter One
The blade changed directions midair, slicing toward her head. Citrine managed to get her short sword up in time to deflect the blow, but the jarring force of the strike left her arms weak.
She spun to the side, flicking her opponent’s blade off hers and buying herself a moment’s respite to wipe her arm across her brow. The sweat caused her unruly, blonde hair to stick to her forehead, and not for the first time, she lamented the convention which forced her to keep it long.
“Again!” she panted, lifting her sword in the ready position.
William, one of the younger Sinclair warriors, shrugged. “Ye sure, Citrine?”
“Aye! Again!”
In response to the command in her tone, William threw himself forward, his blade flashing in the summer afternoon sunlight. She parried one, then two strikes, before he made use of the earlier technique.
She stopped him easier this time. Knowing she couldn’t hold him for long—his arms were stronger than hers, after all—she held up a hand. “Hold.”
William immediately stepped back, a smirk on that face she’d once thought handsome. “Had enough?”
Enough? Aye, she was worn down…but not beaten.
Never beaten.
She’d been a young girl when she’d first snuck out to watch her father’s men train, and no one had stopped her. That progressed to training on her own, to now, where she trained with the men. Her father’s commander, Dougal, disapproved, but Da hadn’t objected, so the men allowed it.
Still, it was days like today that she wondered why she pushed herself.
Ye could always go practice yer embroidery.
The thought made her snort, a wry grin creeping across her face.
“Show me,” she commanded.
The young man’s smirk changed to a frown. “What?”
She stifled her sigh. To think she’d once had feelings for him! Could she even call William a man? He wasn’t much older than her, but he’d proven his worth as a warrior earlier this summer, when he’d been one of the only survivors of an attack on her younger sister, Pearl.
Still, she eyed him derisively. His thin shoulders and slight frame might once have inspired desire in her, but no longer.
The fact he insisted on hiding the wounds he received during that bandit attack by wearing a tunic even during training…well, suffice it to say she was no longer impressed.
“Show me,” she repeated louder. Settling into position, she gestured him to attack. “Slower this time, so I might learn. ’Tis why I’m here, after all.”
From the frown on his face, it was clear he didn’t think she should be there at all. “And ’tis my responsibility to teach ye?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes, lifting her sword higher. “Come now, William. Ye perfect yer own skills by teaching, ye ken that.”
When he still looked unconvinced and glanced toward another pair of sparring partners, she tried another tactic. Clearing her throat, she forced a contrite expression. “Please?”
The please must’ve done it, because he sighed and took up position. “Fine. I suppose I can do a pretty lass a favor or two.”
She might’ve objected to his meaning if he hadn’t finally consented to attack her again, and her focus was taken up by studying his moves. After the third round, she was ready to try the move on him, and was pleased to see her attack was quick enough to cause him to fumble to raise his hand and block her.
And so they went, back and forth, studying one another for weaknesses to exploit and throwing taunts.
The taunting was a typical part of training among the Sinclair warriors, but most avoided it with Citrine. Only William bothered, and only because of what they’d once shared.
When she’d been younger, she had fancied herself in love with the lad. And whether or not it had been honorable, he’d taken what had been offered. She’d lost her virginity in the stables in a thoroughly unsatisfying encounter. The second and third times had been pleasant enough, but when she’d realized he wasn’t at all interested in her pleasure, she’d told him never again.
And mayhap he hadn’t forgiv
en her for that, judging from the bitterness in his eyes as he waited for her to attack once more.
“Have ye learned it, lass?”
She blew out a breath and lifted an eyebrow, refusing to show how exhausted she was. “Ye tell me!”
Her blows landed swift and hard, and she heard him grunt as he stumbled back. The realization she had unbalanced him brought a grim smile to her lips, but she didn’t let up on her attack. It wasn’t until he cursed and spun out of the way that she let up, but that was a mistake. He only dropped, swiping at her knees.
She almost didn’t see the new tactic, although she should’ve. Exhaustion had stolen her attention and speed, but when she realized the blade was prepared to take out her legs, she leapt…and landed wrong, her left leg buckling.
With a grunt, she went down, rolling, and forcing herself up to her knees.
This was training, aye, but she’d always demanded the men not go easy on her. She wanted to learn, to be valuable to the clan, and she couldn’t do that by giving up and staying on the ground when she fell.
Get up.
Another grunt as she shoved one leg under her, only to see William lift his sword in a begrudging salute.
Confused, she lifted her own, albeit slower, and frowned when he moved away. By all the saints, was he conceding? Because she hadn’t conceded his win, and what would cause him—
Oh.
Standing to one side of the training area with his arms crossed in front of his still-powerful chest, Laird Duncan Sinclair was frowning at her.
Doing her best to hide her exhaustion, she forced herself to her feet, pulled a rag from her belt, and made a show of wiping down her blade before lovingly sliding it back into the scabbard at her hip.
She used the same rag to wipe her forehead and neck, tucking the stray hairs behind her ears and thinking longingly of the loch’s cool water. Then, and only then, did she move toward her father.
“Hello, Da,” she called cheerfully as she got closer. “Here to watch me kick William’s arse?”
Mayhap it was the right greeting. Almost reluctantly, his scowl eased. “Ye were doing quite well. The lad isnae the right partner for ye, though.”
Her brows rose as she settled her fists on her hips. As every day, she wore a tunic belted loosely over a pair of trews. Her feet were bare, but her boots lay in the grass up on the hill where she and her sisters used to sit to watch the men train.
“Ye think I need a better partner?” What did Da know of her history with William?
“The lad isnae a bad opponent, but he doesnae challenge ye, Citrine. Ye need a challenge.”
She leapt at the opportunity. “So ye’re saying I should train with Dougal and the older warriors?” It was a right denied to the youngest among them…and most definitely to the laird’s daughter.
“Nay, lass.” He shook his head almost regretfully. “I’m saying ye need a different kind of challenge. The sword doesnae challenge ye anymore.”
With a sinking feeling, Citrine took the waterskin he offered her. “What would?” she asked dully, suspecting she knew the answer.
“Being a wife and mother. Walk with me.”
He didn’t wait to see if she objected but turned toward the keep. Citrine followed, the waterskin dangling from one hand as she focused on the path ahead of her.
Wife and mother, bah!
At the start of the new year, Da had suddenly begun talking about marriage contracts for his four daughters. Mother had been long gone, and without sons to follow him, Da was obviously concerned with ensuring his daughters’ safety.
Pearl—the youngest of Citrine’s sisters—had been betrothed to the Sutherland laird, but had broken that contract to marry Da’s longtime bodyguard, the Sinclair Hound. Their oldest sister was now happily married to the Mackenzie regent, and raising the next laird of that clan. And Citrine’s twin sister, Saffy, had only just returned to her new home among the Sutherlands, after having joyfully wed Pearl’s old suitor.
She was thrilled for her sisters, for certes. They’d all found love where they didn’t expect it, and were settled into their new lives as wives and—aye—even mothers.
But not Citrine.
Her place was here by her father’s side, ensuring his rule lasted for as long as possible and keeping her clan together.
But a month ago he’d announced her betrothal to the youngest son of one of the MacLeod clans among the Western Isles. Likely a pock-faced lad, too young to piss off a curtain wall, who cared only for the power an alliance with the once-powerful Sinclairs would bring.
“Da, I donae want those things,” she began, only to have him raise a hand to cut her off.
“Aye, I ken it, Citrine.”
With a sigh, he sank down on one of the boulders lining the path, and she realized he’d led her this way to give them a little privacy for their talk. She was normally too full of energy to sit still, but today…
She sat at his feet, her back to the same boulder, and pulled her knees up to wrap her arms around them.
“Citrine, yer mother and I…we wanted ye to be safe.” When she started to object, he continued. “And ye’re no’ safe here, unmarried. Ye ken I’m getting older. The last few months have taught us both that.”
Halfway through the summer, Da was laid low by an unexplained stomach ailment. He had grown weaker and weaker, and Citrine had been genuinely afraid she’d lose him.
It wasn’t until she began to check his food and ensuring he only ate what she fed him, that he began to improve. It was enough to go to him with her suspicions.
“The last few months have taught us who to trust,” she grumbled.
“I ken ye believe I was being poisoned, and I donae deny ’tis a possibility. But I also reject yer theory of my enemy. Dougal is no’ only my cousin, but has been my second-in-command for many years.”
Throwing up her hands, she blew out an exasperated breath. “And the only one who stands to gain, Da!”
She twisted, staring up at him. “Ye were being poisoned, and Dougal—”
“Who do ye think will take over the clan when I’m gone, Citrine?” her father quietly interrupted.
Her mouth snapped shut, unwilling to contemplate such a future.
The Sinclair laird let out a tired sounding breath and scrubbed a hand over his thick beard. “I’m no’ ready to die yet, daughter, but ye ken I’ve long considered the possibilities. Without a son to follow me as laird, what other choices do I have? I have no living brothers, and without the Jewels…”
It took a moment for Citrine to realize he wasn’t speaking of her and her sisters. Long called the Sinclair Jewels by the fanciful Highland folk, the four of them had been named for the jewels in the long-missing Sinclair brooch.
That was what her father referred to. Legend had it that the clan’s fortune was tied to the jewels, and when it went missing generations ago, the Sinclairs began to lose power. Now, with no sons to take over the clan after him, Duncan Sinclair was obviously convinced his family would fall into obscurity.
But not all hope was lost.
Unbeknown to him, Citrine and her sisters had embarked on a quest to restore not just the jewels, but the clan to honor. After receiving an ancient tapestry from their elderly nurse, Elspeth, the sisters followed a clue to the Mackenzie keep. Agata’s journey there—and her adventure to find love with her new husband, Jaimie—resulted in finding the first missing stone, an agate as big as a man’s thumb.
The clue they’d found with the stone led the sisters to the Sutherlands, where scholarly Saffy took it upon herself to don a disguise and become a squire to the most-feared man in the Highlands. Their adventures led to love, as well as finding the missing sapphire under a block in the dungeon carved with the clan crest of the MacLeods of Lewes.
The MacLeods of Lewes…the same clan her father would have her marry into.
But she’d resisted leaving him. Lewes was on the other side of Scotland, and how could she keep Da safe—from threats
like Dougal—if she went there?
But if one of the two missing stones—a citrine and pearl—was on Lewes, how could she not?
Mayhap it was time to tell Da about the stones she and her sisters had already collected? Mayhap the knowledge that two of the four missing jewels were tucked in a wooden box under her bed would improve his mood?
Mayhap he wouldn’t insist she marry then, but would allow her to merely visit Lewes to retrieve whatever stone was there?
“I can hear ye thinking over there, wee one.” Da’s voice was quiet, almost sorrowful. “I ken ye’re trying to come up with a way out of this, but ye cannae. My mind is made up.”
Citrine uncorked the waterskin. “About what?” she asked dully, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.
He waited for her to take a drink.
“Ye’re going to be married, Citrine. Rory MacLeod is a good lad—strong and brave. His father and I agree he’ll be a good match for ye. A challenge.”
“And my wants no’ matter?”
He chuckled. “Yer sisters have thought to run me in circles, Citrine, choosing their own happiness over the clan’s.”
She frowned. “All of them married good men, making strong alliances. They didnae need ye to force them to marry.”
“Aye, they’re good lassies, and now I ken they’ll be protected when I’m gone.”
That was enough. Despite the wobble in her legs from the sparring, Citrine pushed herself up to loom over her father. “Ye’re no’ going anywhere, Da. I’ll make sure.”
“Lass…” Shaking his head, her father stood, matching her irritation. “I love ye well, but ye’re no’ more stubborn than I am. Dougal will no’ harm me, and I plan to rule here for a while yet.”
She stood on her toes until her nose was inches from his. “But I’ll no’ be here to see it, that’s yer plan? I’ll be stuck in some castle that stinks of fish, far from here?”
His lips twitch. “We Sinclairs have a proud seafaring and fishing tradition, lass.”
The MacLeod Pirate Page 1