by Paula Quinn
He went a little paler than usual and tugged at his léine as if it were suddenly too tight. “’Tis important fer ye to get to know my kin.”
“Why?” she asked on a soft breath. “To make it harder on us all when I leave?”
He looked at her, all emotion gone from his face. He seemed as if there was something he wanted to say to refute her. Finally, he lowered his gaze to the ground and continued walking in silence.
“Do you want to go back, then?” She paused and touched his arm. The sensation of wanting to touch more of him washed over her before she could stop it. She felt her face go up in flames and severed their touch.
“Nae,” he said, watching her hand. His voice sent a cool shiver up her back. “’Tis still important to get to know my kin.”
They were right back where they started. He hadn’t budged in his unspoken conviction that she wasn’t going anywhere.
She didn’t want to argue with him on such a lovely day. What could it hurt to spend a little time with the others?
She wasn’t sure she was ready for such open arms, but after sharing tea with Camlochlin’s bard, Finn Grant, whose lilting voice made him sound as if he was singing when he wasn’t, and his wife, Leslie, she decided she liked how easily she was being taken into the fold. Perhaps it was because they truly had found a haven from the laws against them, but there was a feeling of safety here, of lives well lived.
Every soul they greeted on their stroll wore content smiles and had kind things to say.
“The people here are quite nice,” she remarked on their way to the next house.
“Aye,” he agreed, bending to pet Goliath at his side. “What’s life like at court?”
“Quiet and a bit stuffy,” she told him, “with plenty of backbiting going on in the shadows. Scandals and gossip are fashionable presently. Everyone’s eyes are on everyone else. I try not to involve myself in it too much…being unkind to others is cowardly. But living in the palace, I have succumbed to it at times.”
“Mayhap Anne wanted a better future fer ye.”
She raised her brow and smiled with him. She’d never considered that possibility. “Oh? Is Camlochlin better?”
“Aye, ’tis,” he answered with pride he looked surprised at feeling. “We’re all kin here. There’s a scandal now and then, but no one is unkind aboot it.”
“Kin?”
“Family.”
“Oh, I see,” she managed on the slightest of breaths. She was attracted to Adam MacGregor, but was this temptation too much? Family. It was something she’d never had, something she’d always wanted.
“What aboot yer kin?” he asked as if reading her thoughts.
“I was raised by my uncle and aunt, denied by my true parents. William and my dear friend Poppy became my family.”
“Denied and separated,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fergive me fer callin’ ye overindulged.”
“We both made rash judgments.”
He smiled down at her but it faded before he asked, “Ye’ve known William long, then?”
“Since I was eight.”
They walked for a bit longer, and Sina felt sorry for ending their talk unpleasantly.
“’Twasn’t always terrible,” she assured him. “The queen often threw grand balls. I enjoyed the dancing and merriment.” She smiled, remembering, and then dipped her gaze when she found Adam watching her.
“Did ye dance with yer William at these grand balls?”
“Before he left,” she said, her smile going soft. “But”—her smile faded—“he has been away for the last three years on the grand tour. He only returned a sennight before I was taken.”
“Ye havena seen him in three years?” he asked, looking incredulous and utterly irresistible. “And yer heart remains loyal to him?”
“Of course.”
He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, looking through her for the truth of what she claimed.
“What kept him from ye fer so long?”
“A tour of Europe taken by some men and women of sufficient means to complete their education. William went so that he could be exposed to different cultural legacies and to become acquainted with polite society.”
“Polite society?” he asked, grimacing, as any savage would. “He sounds painfully dull.”
“He isn’t,” she retorted. She wouldn’t let him speak ill of William. “He’s gentle and sensitive and quite intelligent.”
He chuckled and looked straight ahead but said nothing else.
She wanted to tell him about William, but she knew he wouldn’t want to listen. Hadn’t he ever loved a woman and feared losing her in his life?
She decided to ask him.
“I’ve never been in love,” he replied, shocking her.
“Never?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?” she asked. “Was your sister correct? Are you afraid of love the way you’re afraid of being chief?”
He slid his cool gaze to her and pressed his lips together. “Abby said I was afraid of bein’ chief?”
She nodded, lifting her gaze from his mouth. “Are you?”
He looked as if he might deny it, but then he answered honestly. “Aye. I am. My faither is the greatest man I know. He loves these people as a faither loves his bairns. He’s dedicated his life to protectin’ them, to keepin’ order and seein’ them all fed. They’re all here because my grandsire defied the kingdom and its laws and would no’ give up his name, despite the punishment.”
She walked with him in silence a few more feet and then turned to him. “You don’t strike me as a man without confidence.”
He grinned at her and she almost grinned back. He was easy to talk to and nice to watch as different expressions frolicked across his features. She thought about kissing him and chastised herself for it. She didn’t think about kissing William—even before he left for the tour.
“’Tis no’ a lack of confidence,” he corrected. “’Tis a lack of the passion fer the things that mean so much to them. I’ve never had to fight to bear my name—or strive to make certain everyone was happy.” His eyes flicked to the side as if he were looking for the right words. “I havena earned their respect, but handed it over to my sister.”
Sina listened, wondering if he was this open to everyone and about everything. What more would he tell her? What more did she want to know? “You said you lacked passion for those things. What are you passionate about, then?”
She was almost certain he was going to answer that he was passionate about bedding women.
“This way of life,” he replied, surprising her. “In freedom with my kin. Away from the rest of the world and its cripplin’ sorrows. Away from the kind of power that forces faithers to abandon their daughters.”
Aye, she parted her lips and breathed out a shaky sigh. God help her, she didn’t think she would find him this likable. Every time they were together, he sparked a different desire in her. She wanted to run from him, hit him, touch him, kiss him…get to know him. Each moment with him made those desires stronger. But if she let him near—if they consummated this marriage, there would be no hope of rescue.
They reached the large home of Graham Grant, the Earl of Huntley and grandfather of the Grants of Camlochlin, and were invited inside.
The stone house rose two stories high, with mullioned windows made of clear glass letting in the sunlight and a chimney piercing the gossamer mist.
“Who builds these manor houses?” Sina asked, following Adam through a grand entrance while their host called up the stairs to his wife. The Earl of Huntley led them to a warmly lit parlor with carved wooden bookshelves and paintings lining the walls and rich, upholstered furniture set before an enormous hearth fire. As in Finn and Leslie’s house, there were several vases of heather scattered about on different tables and ledges.
“I helped Callum build the castle,” Graham told her, offering her a seat. “M’ sons have become master builders.”
Goodness, bu
t the men here aged well. His dancing green eyes and wide, warm, dimpled smile must have broken the hearts of many in his younger days. When his gaze fell upon the woman entering the parlor, Sina was certain this was the only one who could break his.
“M’ wife, Claire.”
Sina had met her briefly at Davina’s gathering and had seen her in the training field earlier, not fighting, but watching and instructing.
She was lovely, tall, with snowy-white hair braided down her shoulder. She wore no skirts but breeches and a billowing léine tied at her slim waist by a leather belt. Though her face was lined with age, her eyes were clear and vivid when they rested on her husband.
She joined them in a chair opposite Sina’s and settled her eyes on her. “What do ye think of Camlochlin so far?”
“’Tis different.”
Claire slanted a corner of her mouth and gave her a slight nod. “’Tis not what ye imagined, then.”
“No,” Sina told her truthfully. “’Tis filled with many surprises and curiosities.”
Two maids entered carrying trays of fresh black bread with butter and cheese, and a tankard of whisky with four flagons to match. They set the trays down on the small table between the hosts and their guests and stepped back.
“Such as?” Lady Huntley asked, reaching for a slice of bread.
“Such as the queen’s dearest friend, General Marlow, living here,” Sina told her. “And Colin MacGregor, who, according to your son Finn, was once a close friend of King James and a general in his army. I’m also curious about how your husband, who has been a longtime MacGregor supporter, gained the title of Earl of Huntley.”
She brought her cup to her lips and sipped the whisky. Immediately, she coughed and shook to her toes.
“Just breathe,” Adam said, leaning in a bit closer. “It takes gettin’ used to.”
“After it burns your insides out,” she managed to say.
His lips, closer than they should be, lifted in a wide, glorious smile that made her heart skip a beat or two and her belly burn hotter than the whisky had. He was too close. His gaze was too warm.
She didn’t want to like him. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t betray William. He deserved someone as loyal to him as he had been to her. She could feel Adam chipping away at her defenses. She had to hold on for as long as she could. Anne wasn’t well. She wouldn’t live forever, and then William would find a way to help her.
“The MacGregors seem to have many different ties to the crown,” she continued, doing everything she could to keep her mind off Adam’s dominant presence next to her.
Graham told her about his part in restoring Charles to the throne, and the titles he was given for it. “Also, Claire is a Stuart. A distant cousin to Charles, James, Anne, all of them.”
“Cousins?” Sina asked, feeling ill. If Claire was a Stuart, then all the Grants were related to the queen! Well, that explained why Anne had sent her here—to her family! Did her father know? “The queen never mentioned it.”
“We’re outlaws and pirates,” Adam reminded her. “She doesna want to be linked to us more than she needs to be.”
But she would bind Sina to them without a care. Sina didn’t think she would ever forgive her.
“Och, Satan’s balls,” Claire muttered, setting down her cup. “We didn’t mean to make ye so sad.”
Sina realized she was frowning and lifted her eyes to her hostess. “You haven’t done anything but treat me kindly. ’Tis the queen’s decision that saddens me.”
“Mayhap,” Graham said, finishing his whisky and rising from his chair, “she saved ye from a political life. Some of us lived there,” he told her, moving toward the window. “’Tis better to raise yer bairns in Camlochlin.”
Children? She couldn’t help her gaze from slipping to Adam next to her, or her thoughts from imagining him carrying her to his bed.
She felt her face go red before she could do anything about it. She saw the trace of delight and the promise of decadence flash across his smile and wanted to kick him under the table—or crawl under it.
Or smile back.
Chapter Ten
So d’ye still think us savages?” Adam asked Sina as they walked back to the castle. Though she seemed to enjoy their afternoon together, the darker it grew outside, the more anxious she became. No lass had ever feared him before. He didn’t know how to convince her that he and his kin didn’t go around slaughtering people. He was glad she spent the day with them, getting to know them beyond a simple greeting. He didn’t want to think about why he cared. Thinking too much had kept him away for two days.
She looked up and smiled at him in the moonlight, and for a moment none of his misgivings about being married made sense.
“There were a few,” she said, her dimple flickering, “of whom I still haven’t made up my mind.”
“Uncle Colin.”
“Yes.” She laughed, then sobered as she took his arm. “I thought he was going to hack off your arm when you practiced with him.”
“He has the utmost control over his blade,” he said, moving a bit closer. “But I like that ye worried aboot me.”
She swung her teasing gaze away. “I don’t like the sight of blood. It has nothing to do with you.”
He wanted to stop and drag her into his arms. He’d stayed away, doing everything, save bedding lasses, to put her out of his thoughts. But she remained, haunting him.
He thought he might try to seduce her tonight. She seemed more at ease with him. If they sealed this union, mayhap she would cease insisting she was leaving. But he wanted to lie with her for so many more reasons than that. She was his and he wanted no man to question it. The more time he spent in her company, the more he enjoyed it. He wanted to break through William and claim her heart—not only because, if he didn’t, he would live a miserable life—but because it was a heart he was coming to admire, fighting to the very end.
But it had to end soon. Whether she liked it here or not no longer mattered. This was her home now. He was her husband. He wasn’t supposed to ache for his wife. He was supposed to—
She yawned. “I’m very sleepy.”
—respect her wishes. But for how long?
“Of course,” he said, entering the castle with her and stopping at the stairs. He didn’t think he could spend another night with her without touching her. “Go on ahead. I’ll be up later.”
She didn’t argue but hurried away to the room, leaving him looking after her, cursing under his breath when he finally turned away.
He didn’t see her peek back out a few moments later, look around, and then hurry for the kitchen.
Adam drank with Daniel in the solar for over an hour, but Sina plagued his thoughts. On his way to his room, he thought about moving to another, but he was her husband. He belonged with her. Whether he made love to her or just slept beside her, it was his place. And every man in Camlochlin would tell him so the moment they found out he left his bed.
He opened the door to his chambers as slowly as he could to stop it from creaking. It didn’t help. Goliath slipped around his boots and sniffed the air, then took his place on the blanket on the floor.
Adam inhaled the faint scent of…garlic? Whatever it was, it faded and he didn’t think on it again.
She’d kept two candles lit for him. He saw her asleep under his blanket, her back toward his side of the bed. Was she asleep? Was she dreaming of her William?
He crept inside and undressed. He was about to climb into bed, when her sweet voice touched his ears.
“Are you naked, Adam?”
He sighed and trod back to his chest of drawers. After rifling through it, he found a pair of thin knee breeches and put them on. He’d slept naked for years. He found it more comfortable. How much more was he expected to give up to make her happy? He’d already become celibate. More, he hadn’t even thought of another woman since he first laid eyes on his weeping bride. He’d stayed away from her. He’d sat visiting with his kin—something he’d rarely d
one—for her. He’d thrown his dog out of his room!
He pulled the blanket aside and got into bed. He found her hand, grasped it, and then rested it on his thigh. “Happy now?”
She pulled her hand away and sat up. Her golden tresses tumbled free around her shoulders. She turned to aim a murderous stare at him, but Adam barely noticed. What the hell was she wearing? Her nightdress looked as if fairies that sought to make her appear even more delicate had spun it. He wanted to touch it, touch her.
He sniffed the air. “What the hell is that odor?”
“Garlic,” she informed him. “I think we should—”
He sat up next to her. “Did ye bathe in it, fer hell’s sake?”
“I went to the kitchen and rubbed some on me.”
His eyes widened. “Why?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her eyes said more than her lips. She wasn’t difficult to read. She didn’t try to be. Even when she was reviling him with her mouth, her eyes remained sad. She was afraid of him, here in his bed. He felt a twinge of compassion but then almost choked when he inhaled again.
“So ye think I canna keep my hands off ye and rubbed garlic on yerself to keep me away?”
“You just made me touch you,” she reminded him through tight lips.
“Aye, to prove I wasna naked,” he countered, moving away from her. “Wash it off. I canna sleep with the smell of ye stingin’ my nostrils.”
She shook her head, but indecision clouded her eyes. “I would rather not.”
“Sina,” he warned, rubbing his nose. “Wash it off or I will.”
“If you touch me,” she said with a challenging stare, “I can assure you I will—”
She snapped her mouth shut when he bounded from the bed, and watched him as he padded around it. She tried to scoot back when he pulled her by the hand out of it. He tugged her toward the small basin and jug on a nearby table and pointed to it.
She laughed until he poured the water, dipped a cloth into the basin, and lifted it, dripping, to her face. “Where should I begin?”
Her mirth faded, and she snatched the cloth from his hand and began wiping while he returned to the bed and pulled at the linens.