Rogue of the Borders

by Cynthia Breeding

  But it was Albert who took over acquainting her with the office. After Shane had delivered her safely to the building, he’d disappeared in the direction of his ship with strict orders for her not to be seen on the quay.

  She would do as he instructed—for now anyway.

  The procedures for preparing invoices and bills of lading seemed easy enough as did the filing. Albert had everything organized to perfection. “What about the ledgers and the bookkeeping?” she asked.

  “I am doing those,” Richard answered. “I keep the books in my desk.”

  “I would like to help with them,” Abigial said.

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “I do not mean to insult you, madam, but what do women know about numbers and keeping books?”

  Abigail didn’t like his condescending tone, but she was used to such questions and attitudes. Most men didn’t think women should concern themselves beyond food and preparations for the next party, but she didn’t need to antagonize Richard. Shane would truly make her stay home if she created problems. “It is unusual,” she agreed in her most amiable voice, “but my father has no male heirs, so he provided me with an excellent education that included economics and mathematics.”

  “Excellent,” Albert exclaimed, putting an end to the situation. “Once ye get the routine down, ye can assist with the entries—especially if I am nae back soon.” He turned to Richard. “Having Mrs. MacLeod here is a boon to us.”

  Richard’s eyes turned to glacier ice, but he grudgingly nodded. “Of course.”

  Not wanting to create an uncomfortable environment by outranking Richard—he was fairly new to the company as well—she smiled at him. “Please call me Abigail. If you are still staying at the hotel, I would be happy to share a hack in the evenings.” Not wanting him to think she meant he couldn’t afford it, she added quickly, “Shane would not have to take a footman from his duties if you were to escort me.”

  His eyes brightened somewhat and he gave her a thoughtful look.

  “’Tis very good of ye to offer,” Albert said, “but Richard has quarters above the office. The rooms have been empty a while, since Janet and I have our own place and David lives with his mother. Never ye fear, though. If one of the footmen canna fetch ye when Shane is gone, I will come myself.”

  “That is very kind,” Abigial answered, “although I think too much fuss is being made over my getting to and from the office. A short walk less than half a kilometer is good exercise.”

  “Aye, but the old bridge over the Waters of Leith is a bit rickety and the path overgrown in spots. Ruffians have been known to lurk about. Shane would have my head on a platter if something were to happen to ye while he is gone.”

  Abigail forced a big smile on her face, although she silently wondered how much Shane would really care. Her own road to his heart was certainly full of obstacles and rocky bumps. Since their passionate kiss—which she had orchestrated—her husband had been even more aloof. Her smile became more genuine at the memory. Even Shane could not deny his response had been intense. She had felt his desire literally.

  And she definitely wanted to experience it again. She wanted all of him. How much time would it take? Time was running out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The past two days had been busy, learning the procedures of the shipping office before Albert left and Abigail had concentrated on absorbing as much information as she could without seeming to take over from Richard. Although he had been civil, she’d caught him watching her with those cold, blue eyes on more than one occasion.

  What she needed was a good book. Abigail opened the door to the library and then quickly stepped back as Shane looked up from the desk. “I am sorry. I did not know you were here.” Since she’d already invaded his business world, Abigail didn’t want him to think she was hounding him.

  “’Tis all right to come in.” Shane laid aside a nautical map he’d been holding. “Are ye looking for a wee bit of respite from the twins?”

  “Actually, Shauna took the girls and Fiona shopping. I just wanted to get a book to read,” she said as she approached the desk. “If you are busy, I can come back.”

  “I was just charting a course to Le Havre. ’Tis nae a port I sail to usually.”

  “When will you be leaving?”

  “It will take at least a week for the harvested kelp to dry,” Shane replied and stood. “What kind of a book are ye looking for? Perhaps I can help ye find it.”

  “I am not sure.” Abigail looked at one of the battle scenes on the wall. It closely resembled the one in Ian’s chapel, although this one didn’t have a faerie flag. “Do you have anything about your Viking ancestors?”

  Shane raised an eyebrow. “Ye want to read our genealogy?”

  “It would be a good way to get to know you better.”

  “There are two whole shelves upstairs devoted to us.”

  Abigail widened her eyes. “Why so many? Are you famous or something?”

  “Nae me, but my Sinclair ancestors are.”

  “Tell me.”

  “’Tis complicated. The Sinclairs—or St. Claires—were involved with the Stuart dynasty.” Shane gestured toward the sofa across the room. “Would ye like a sherry?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Abigail sat quickly lest Shane change his mind. To her delight, he joined her on the sofa, although there was definitely space between them. “I want to hear everything.”

  “Everything would take too long. ’Tis why there are books upstairs. Ye already ken a bit about the MacLeods. Besides what I just told ye, do ye ken anything else about the Sinclairs?”

  She furrowed her brow. “There is an Earl of Rosslyn—the second, I think—who is a member of Parliament.”

  “Aye. That would be Sir James Sinclair Erskine.” Shane smiled. “Do ye ken who all the members of Parliament are?”

  Abigail smiled back. “Of course not. Papa mentioned him once in regard to something about Masons.”

  Shane tilted his head, eyeing her intently. “What do ye ken of Masons?”

  “Not much, only that they probably descended from the Knights Templar. Are the Masons connected to the Sinclairs?”

  Shane pointed to one of the pictures of Rosslyn Chapel. “The whole concept of Free Masonry came about with building the chapel, but that is another story.”

  She followed his gesture with her eyes. “That building is fascinating. I would like to hear its story sometime. So how far back do your ancestors go?”

  “A wee bit ye might say.” Shane grinned. “Two centuries before Olaf’s son, Leod, invaded Scotland, another Viking ancestor, Rolf, was outlawed by the king of Norway and started marauding southward to Britanny and Normandy.”

  “Outlawed? For what?”

  Shane shrugged. “’Tis hard to say. Kings held absolute power back then. Eventually though, a truce was made when Rolf married the daughter of King Charles of Gaul back in 911. Rolf took the name St. Claire from a holy well called Sanctus Clarus sur Epte near there. The king made him the first duke of Normandy.”

  “An ancestor to William the Conqueror?” Abigail asked.

  “Aye. After the Battle of Hastings, the St. Claires who’d fought with the duke were awarded lands in Britain and Scotland.”

  “And one of them got Rosslyn?”

  Shane shook his head. “Ownership of Rosslyn came about thirty years later when Queen Margaret bestowed knighthood to the William St. Claire who had served as her protector while she was in exile.”

  “Margaret?” Abigail squinted, thinking. “Do you mean the wife of King Malcolm Canmore? From Macbeth’s time?”

  “Aye.”

  Abigail stared at him in fascination. “I had no idea.”

  “Dunfermline was the capitol of Scotland while Malcolm reigned. It lies just across the Firth. Perhaps ye would like to see it?”

  “Oh, yes.” Thrilling as it was to experience a real part of history, Abigail had a suspicion the sudden, fast fluttering of her heart had to do more with the fact that
Shane was actually acting like he wanted to spend time with her. Hope soared anew. If she could just keep him talking—

  “We are home,” one of the twins shrieked as the entrance door slammed and Abigail heard Shauna chiding whichever one it was.

  “Abby! Abby! Where are you?” the other twin shouted as Shauna admonished that one as well.

  Shane grinned. “They are back.”

  Reluctantly, Abigail nodded and rose. So ended their history lesson. For now.

  Shane finished the dram of whisky he’d taken when he poured Abigail’s sherry and settled back on the sofa. Based on what had been an enlightening conversation, his wife was becoming more and more of an enigma. Not that his speaking of his Sinclair heritage was particularly enlightening—there were books on that—but the fact that Abigail knew anything about the Masons—or more precisely, their descension from Templars—was very interesting.

  He almost wished he could confide in her, but implicating Abigail in a Priory mission could prove dangerous. For two hundred years, the Templars had openly held power. King Philippe had indebted all of France to them. When he was unable to repay his debt, he’d turned to his puppet pope, Clement, to declare them heretics. Those who had escaped to Scotland, to the Sinclair lands in particular, eventually immersed themselves—albeit it as an elite, secret sect—into the new order of Freemasonry.

  But their mission had not changed. The vow to overthrow monarchs who cared nothing for the common people still remained. For now, Shane and his comrades worked behind the scenes, silently funneling money and supplies to those leaders who believed in equality and watching for signs of unrest in those who didn’t. It was a path to be tread carefully, lest anyone be accused of treason.

  Shane would not put Abigail in danger.

  Still, it was pleasant to discuss history with a woman who was intelligent and well-read. She’d not only made the quick connection between a Saxon princess marrying a Scottish king, but she’d also immediately linked them to MacBeth. He needed to tell Abigail about Margaret’s chapel at the castle. It would be a good experience for the twins as well.

  Shane set his glass down and walked to the door to check on his sisters. Maybe before his marriage to Abigail was annulled, he could find time to take her north to Glamis Castle. She would probably like that.

  True to his word, several days later, Shane bundled the twins and Abigail onto a ferry that took them across the Firth to Dunfermline.

  He took them to the ruins of the palace high atop a hill overlooking the gardens of Pittencrieff Park. Although it was still early in the season, some of the flowers were in bloom. “I can imagine how beautiful this is in the summer,” Abigail exclaimed.

  “I would suppose so. I have nae come here then.”

  “Maybe we could?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too pathetic. If Shane would just give her some indication that he was reconsidering the marriage…

  “Summer is my busiest shipping time,” Shane said. “The seas are less stormy so ’tis when I sail to the Mediterranean as well.”

  “So far?” Abigail asked, trying not to let her disappointment show at his answer. “Where do you trade there?”

  “Italy and Greece, exchanging Scots whisky for wine. The near east for some of the best olive oils that can be had, as well as exotic spices.” He changed the subject abruptly, gesturing to their surroundings. “’Tis nae as big as Edinburgh, but it has been here since the eleventh century.”

  “It’s old,” Caitlin remarked, rolling her eyes and making Caylin giggle.

  “And when ye are a little older, ye will learn to appreciate such things,” Shane said disapprovingly.

  “That is right,” Abigail added. “Did you know the Prince Malcolm once had his men disguise themselves with tree branches so his enemy, Macbeth, would think they were a forest and not see them coming?”

  “A forest?” Caylin giggled again.

  “A great forest, all moving at once,” Abigail answered. “Macbeth was warned by witches, but he would not listen.”

  “Witches?” Caitlin’s eyes grew big.

  “And apparitions,” Abigail said.

  Caylin ceased giggling. “Ye mean ghosts?”

  “I do.”

  Caylin frowned. “’Tis a true story?”

  “Some of it is. I will let you figure it out.”

  “Tell us now.”

  “Nae,” Shane intervened. “And she will nae tell ye a word of the tale if ye do nae behave yourselves today.”

  Abigail smiled at how quiet the girls became as they moved on to the abbey. But even she was speechless when the ruins came into view. “It is exquisite,” she said as they walked into the old nave. “The pillars are all different.” She moved from the first rounded one with rectangular-shaped bricks to the second that had a zig-zag pattern and the third striped one reminding her of peppermint candy.

  “The Normans built these,” Shane said, “but more importantly, twenty-two Scottish kings and queens are buried here, including Robert the Bruce—minus his heart, of course.”

  “Minus his heart?” Caitlin asked, her eyes round.

  “Aye. When King Robert died, he requested his heart be taken to the Holy Land. Sir James Douglas and Sir William Sinclair led a contingent of Temp—Scottish knights—across Spain, but they were met by a host of Moors and killed.”

  Abigail gave him a steady look. Had he almost said Templars? She would have to ask about that later. Right now, though, the twins were actually captivated and she didn’t want to lose their attention. “This Sir William was an ancestor of yours,” she said to them. “Is that not exciting? I believe I might have another story of soldiers braving very strange and exciting worlds in something called Crusades.”

  “Will you tell us tonight?”

  “I will tell you one story a night,” Abigail promised with a smile, already thinking of how she could make the history lessons really interesting. She did have an active imagination.

  A corner of Shane’s mouth quirked in a slight smile. “I might like to hear these strange and exciting stories myself.”

  Abigail’s pulse quickened as her imagination took flight into realms of naughty fantasy, but then she calmed as she realized Shane was teasing her.

  At any rate, those kinds of stories—the ones where she wondered what Mr. Darcy wore under his clothes since the author would never say—were not meant for young ears.

  Still, she gave Shane a slow smile and then almost giggled at his startled look.

  Shane turned over, burrowing his head more deeply in his pillow, lost in the world of dreams.

  Shadows lurked around the edges of swirling dark-blue and deep-lavender that deepened into the gloaming’s darkness, leaving any possibility for vision outside the carriage windows obscure. Its well-oiled wheels continued silently northward into the chilly dampness of the night, not that its two occupants noticed or cared.

  Inside the coach, thick layers of furs lined the floor between the benches, forming a cozy, warm cocoon illuminated only by a small, gimbaled oil lamp.

  Abigail lay on that soft bed, chestnut hair spread across the furs, a red satin sheet barely covering her torso as she gave him a seductive smile.

  Shane grinned and tugged the sheet down, uncovering her lusciously full breasts. The ivory mounds glowed in the subtle lighting as he cupped one of them, feeling its full weight in the palm of his hand while he flicked his thumb across the nipple, causing it to peak immediately. He rolled the tightened bud between his fingers as he bent to circle his tongue around the delicious pink tip of the other breast, bringing a small whimper from Abigail. Leisurely, he continued his ministrations until her whimper grew into a hungry mewl and she arched her back for him to take more.

  Slanting his head at an angle, he obliged, drawing her more fully into his mouth and suckling with alternating pressure. She twined her arms around his neck as she clung to him with increasing fervor.

  Shane slid his hand down her side, trailing the curve of h
er hip and slowly tracing the outline of her leg. Abigail’s mewling noises changed to low moans as his fingers wandered softly upward along her inner thigh. Moist heat emanated from the juncture where tight curls already glistened with her readiness. He delved his fingers into her hot well, spreading the juices along her folds and covering her pulsating nub in slickness, making it easy for him to rub and knead and stroke until her body quivered and began to shake. Shane drew harder on her nipple, massaging his thumb over her swollen nib while he thrust a finger deep inside her core. Abigail writhed and cried out, her body shattering beneath his touch—

  With a jolt, Shane shot upright in his bed. Moonlight streamed in the porthole and across his bed, revealing he was alone. His engorged shaft throbbed painfully, but he ignored it, sliding out of bed and pulling on a tunic. Opening the cabin door to the narrow walkway, he ascended the ladder and paced the deck. Maybe the cool night air would bring him back to his senses.

  The dream had been so real. Even now, he could still feel the texture of Abigail’s skin, the taste of her. The scent of her arousal lingered in the air.

  In the air? That could not be. Abigail was not here. Shane raised his head and sniffed. A faint smell of vanilla wafted toward him over the salt-scented water and he quickly looked around, half-expecting to find Abigail hidden on the deck somewhere.

  No one was here. After checking with the two hands who stood watch, ascertaining all was well, Shane went below. Tossing aside the tunic, he climbed back into bed. As he did, something flitted in his peripheral vision, leaving sparkles of gold and silver in its wake.

  Very faintly, he thought he heard the sound of faerie laughter.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Abigail woke the next morning in a somewhat befuddled state to the insistence of Fiona’s knocking at her door. She had been dreaming, a totally nonsensical dream of a fur-lined carriage and vibrant colors swirling around her. And something else—something tangible and yet out of reach—that made her body tremble. She wanted to sink back into the oblivion of the dream and continue, but the banging got louder. Reluctantly, she swung out of bed and padded in her bare feet to the door.