Laurel raised her hand, palm out. “We do not know he is coming. Do we, Brenna?”
Brenna exhaled and shook her head, understanding she was to say no more. Bonny, however, had missed the cue and added, “I think Maegan is right. Uncle Clyde will come home to see Uncle Conan get married.”
Brenna lit up, believing she had just regained permission to offer her opinion, since Bonny had. “Everyone is going to want to see Uncle Conan get married.” Brenna then jumped over a pile of materials and threads. “Bonny, watch this!” she hollered and then made a running leap onto a stretched-out piece of material, sliding across the floor.
“Brenna Gillian!” Laurel hollered as she jumped to her feet, finally having had enough of her oldest daughter’s behavior.
Meriel waved her back down. “I told Brenna it was fine when she came to visit me earlier.”
“That child.” Laurel sighed, falling back into her chair. “She is still young, but even so, the more I look at her the less I see my sweet baby girl and the more I see the woman she will become.”
Raelynd shook her head, refusing to let Laurel get them off topic. “Talk, Laurel. Tell us all you know about Conan. And begin with answering the question: Is it true? Is Conan—the most aggravating, the rudest of all Highlanders when it comes to women—getting married?”
Laurel shook her head and pursed her lips. “I promised Conor to let him break the news.”
Meriel glanced down at her son, who was still fascinated with his wooden blocks, and leaned forward. “You kept your promise. Bonny was the one who made it known. So answer the question,” she pressed. “Is there really an intelligent woman out there who would even agree to marry Conan?”
Laurel took a deep breath and exhaled, staring at nothing as her mind drifted back to the last several months. “Aye. There may be.”
Blinking, Laurel looked up to see two very dubious expressions. She laughed out loud. Oh, how she loved her family. Especially the women the McTiernay men chose to marry. “How can you think it so unbelievable? Not so long ago, many thought it just as improbable—maybe more so—that the two most stalwart, marriage-opposing people in the Highlands, could admit they were in love and find happiness in matrimony.”
“Not fair,” Meriel murmured, knowing her sister-in-law had a point.
Laurel chuckled. “Wait until you meet her. All I will say is that with Mhàiri, Conan just might have found someone who is not only beautiful but can surpass him in the areas in which he prides himself most—knowledge and wit.”
Raelynd looked at Meriel. Meriel stared back for several seconds. They rolled their eyes simultaneously. Surpassed? they thought but did not say aloud.
Regardless, Conan vowing to love and cherish a woman was something they were going to have to see to believe.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Michele Sinclair’s
next historical romance,
A WOMAN MADE FOR SIN,
coming soon from Zebra Books!
Prologue
Buckfast Abbey, May 1816
He had tasted death. Rolled it around on his tongue and licked its dry, cracked lips. He had drunk from death’s dark soul and then done the impossible. He had survived.
Fate’s plans for him had not included an untimely and disgraceful demise, but something profoundly more meaningful. Revenge. Its sweet flavor would mix with death’s, and he would know satisfaction at last.
He turned the final corner down the dank stairwell and entered the oval space filled with the scent of old vellum. Only this room prevented the long days from becoming a living nightmare of pain and torture. In this small area lived the past. Written on countless aged scrolls were the lives of once-powerful leaders, who, like he, had seen their lofty attempts at fulfilling fate’s decree hampered by lesser men. But death had determined those men unworthy to walk these lands of promised power. They were the ones who deserved his sentence of physical damnation, not he.
Time, the monks said. Time to heal his wounds. Time to reflect on past indiscretions and do penance. He, of course, complied and joined their devotions. And his reward was this room of solace, quiet, and promise. Fate had drawn him here. The answer to his future lay somewhere in these cool stone walls along with a promise that not all was lost. That all he aspired to be and have was still within his grasp.
He moved over to remove a small marker in one of the numerous carved openings used for storage. Placing it on the small wooden desk, he turned, pulled out the next scroll, and uncurled the sheets of vellum. Carefully, he secured the ends with heavy rocks. He sat down slowly to avoid any more pain than necessary, and began to read aloud.
“I, your servant, am unable to show you, noble lady, anything worthy in my deeds, and I do not know how I can be acceptable to you. . . .”
The words of the manuscript filled him, flowing over him like a balm on his raw wounds. He had been wrong. It was not a king’s secrets he was searching for, but a queen’s. He continued on.
Hours passed, and though no natural light could shine into the small enclave, he knew it was dark outside. The single candle that had been lighting the room was nearly gone. The monks would be searching for him, telling him it was time for another devotion, solemn ceremony, or some mysterious rite in dedication to God.
A debate began to play out in his head as he continued to read. He knew he should return. Tomorrow would come and the scrolls would still be here. But fate was with him tonight. If he chose to leave, it would surely forsake him, leaving him scarred, ruined, and powerless for his remaining days. Here beneath his fingertips was the answer for which he had been searching. He could not abandon fate’s gift. It might not come again.
He flipped to the final page and read the end.
Nothing was revealed. No secrets. No messages. And yet he knew his destiny was intertwined with this woman’s story.
How this ancient manuscript had made its way into the abbey’s dark walls was a mystery. He could spend years trying to find out whose hands had held this scroll, only to find out the hard-gained knowledge was meaningless. So why had fate placed such words in his grasp? Why was his soul so affected by this woman’s inexplicable victory?
He knew if he did not find the answer, fate would forsake him once again. It had little time for fools. It certainly did not deliver enemies and resurrect kingdoms to unworthy men.
“Hallo?” called a voice whose accent spoke of a life lived in a variety of places. “Son? Are you down there? You have missed the divine reading, and supper is nearly finished. Are you well?”
He sighed deeply and returned, “Yes, Father, I am coming. I am afraid in my studies I lost track of time.”
Crunching footsteps echoed against the walls. An old man dressed in black robes appeared. “What is it that had your attention for so long today? What did the Lord bring to you?”
He stifled another sigh and brought his hood farther up to shade the majority of his face, though he knew the old monk had seen the monstrosity that lay underneath the brown folds. The man had found him washed up from the sea and had brought him to the abbey to tend his wounds.
He should have died. And though the monk might believe it was his God that had revived his nearly dead carcass, he knew better. It had been fate. Something the old man would never understand.
A withered hand poked out from the arm of the black cape and glided down the vellum outstretched on the table. “You are reading the Encomium Emmae Reginae. It is very old, written many years ago by a monk of St. Omer in praise of his Queen Emma. Few take interest in that which occurred so far in the past. So little history was captured then. It is difficult to tell the truth from fiction.” The aged monk paused to cough violently into his hand. His remaining days were few. Consumption was taking him, slowly and painfully.
“My apologies, Father. The staleness of the room makes it hard to breathe,” he said, and then waited patiently for the monk to continue, for the man was one of the few in the abbey
who had studied any writings that were not directly related to scripture.
“This accounting, while biased, is believed to be true, unlike others.”
His heart momentarily stopped. “Are there other stories of the queen? I mean, here at the abbey?” he asked the old monk, hoping his tone reflected his eagerness rather than the apprehension he felt. For he was close. He knew he was.
The monk rolled his eyes upward and began to nod his head. “There is supposedly one other text written about the queen at that time. There was once another person interested in the monarch, and I will tell you what I told them: The accounting is highly questionable and cannot be considered reliable. Its value is in understanding how stories were embellished back then. . . .”
The old monk stretched his head back and surveyed the dusty scrolls stacked in various-sized cubicles within the walls. After a minute, he stretched out his arm until the tips of his gnarled fingers touched a single scroll nestled in a group.
As he watched the monk slip the document out of its resting place, he realized it would have taken many more months at his present pace before he had read the item. The monk gave it to him and he laid it out, anchoring the corners. Bending over, he read the simple legend. The handwriting was jagged and the scattered drops of ink indicated it had been quickly scribed. But it was legible.
His heart began pounding with renewed hope. He heard the old man’s opinion of the story, that it was an allegory and not one of truth.
But he knew differently.
Fate had not deserted him.
Fate had been with him all along, as it was with all great men.
“You said only one other had seen this, Father. Please, tell me. Who was it?”
Chapter 1
London, late July 1816
“Millie, do not shake your head at me! I absolutely insist that you come! Of the three of us, you know the streets by the Thames the best. And Jennelle, do not think because you are sitting behind me I am unaware that you are at this very moment rolling your eyes,” Aimee added as she glanced back, affirming her guess. “Millie fled through those alleys on foot in the middle of the night just a few months ago.”
Millie felt her jaw tense and tried again to make her best friend see reason. “Charles, Aimee. Charles was with me. It was your brother who knew where to go and managed to save me from—”
“And since then you have gone with him a dozen times or more when he has needed to visit one of his ships,” Aimee interrupted. She knelt down and clutched her oldest friend’s fingers in her own. “I not only want but need your help, Millie. But know that your refusal to do so will not sway me from going. Tonight is my last chance, and I am going. Even if I have to go by myself.”
Aimee’s voice was soft but emphatic. It was completely out of character for the tall, willowy blonde, who was typically very sweet and gentle. But today, her bright green eyes snapped with a compelling urgency that conveyed her threat was not an empty one.
Jennelle was about to offer a word of caution when Aimee cut her off. “It is a brilliant plan. Millie, tell her,” Aimee said to the most adventurous of their group.
Nicknamed the Daring Three when they were just children, the three girls were best friends and nearly inseparable. Even Millie’s recent marriage to Aimee’s elder brother had not split them up. Aimee was positive that if she could just get Millie to agree with her plan, the ever-so-logical Jennelle would follow. She would be compelled to, from sheer friendship.
Millie, now sorry that she ever mentioned her husband’s strange mystery, laid a hand on her agitated friend’s arm. “It is a bold plan, Aimee, but I am unsure why you would want to get involved. I think Charlie has his own ideas about routing out the thief. Should we not just wait . . . ?”
“My brother may be your husband, Millie. And you may find him intriguing and his tediousness an adventure, but since you became Lady Chaselton, I must finally tell you the truth. You have turned into quite a bore!” Aimee rose to her feet and began pacing. “Four months ago it would have been you planning this night raid, and it would have been Jennelle and I holding you back.”
Millie opened and closed her mouth, unable to deny her friend’s accusation. “I expect you are correct, Aimee. I have tempered my inclinations a bit, but you must understand that as Lady Chaselton I cannot continue to act as I once did. Charlie would kill me if he found out,” Millie said, tucking an escaped dark lock of hair behind her ear. Never had she managed to keep the thick wavy mass under control for long.
“That is a crock, Mildred, and you know it. Charles would be upset, but he has caught you in many a more provocative situation, and he still fell in love with you despite your ways. I am asking you for one small favor, one small adventure, and suddenly you turn prim and proper. It is unfair, I tell you! After all the crazy exploits Jennelle and I have joined you on.”
Jennelle’s dark red eyebrows popped up at the mention of her name. “It is not a small favor, Aimee. Dressing up like men, leaving in the middle of the night to stow aboard Charles’s ship to catch a thief, is not a small favor.” Despite her red hair and flashing blue eyes that hinted of her Irish ancestry, of the three of them, Jennelle was the one who was most able to remain calm and cool in even the most dire situation. As the years came and went, Millie and Aimee wondered what, if anything, could break that cool composure, and secretly hoped to be around if it ever did.
Aimee walked over and sat across from her two friends, deciding honesty was the only way she would get them to understand and agree. “Please, please do this. Reece has been in town for nearly a month and has refused to see me. No matter what I do, he avoids my company. Can you imagine, Millie, what it would be like if Charles suddenly no longer wanted to see you or speak to you?”
Millie bit her bottom lip; she could not imagine the pain Aimee just described, but the mere thought of not being able to talk with Charlie, even when they disagreed, was horrifying. Aimee had been in love with Reece Hamilton, Charles’s best friend, since she first saw him when she was six years old. Almost nine years Aimee’s senior, Reece had been amused by her infatuation, but it was not until last Christmas that their relationship changed—significantly.
During the war, Reece’s and Charles’s visits home were infrequent. Consequently, it was customary for Reece to pay Lady Chaselton and her daughter a visit when he was in town. He would relay any news of the war and the well-being of her son, just as it was expected that Charles would visit Reece’s family. Last December, it had been three years since Reece had seen Aimee. It must have made a difference, because this time he kissed her. And according to Aimee, the kiss had been no ordinary one. She was now certain that Reece was the only man for her and that her destiny was tied to his.
Millie sighed. “Tell me your plan. All of it. And, Jennelle, pay attention for problems, for I believe we are going on an adventure tonight.”
Jennelle rolled her eyes but knew all was lost. Millie had acquiesced. But what did she expect? For marriage to change her petite, excitement-seeking friend? For Aimee to suddenly stop seizing every opportunity to convince the one man she had ever pined for to love her? Jennelle held her breath and then exhaled long and soft, realizing she was the only sane one of the bunch. And a sane person really should be tagging along on this crazy escapade.
“I’m unsure as to the intelligence of this idea, Aimee, but tell it to us once again.”
Aimee felt alive and excited all over. The rented hack hit a large cobblestone and her fingers fluttered to Millie’s for support. “I cannot believe I am finally going to see him again, Millie. It has been so long. If I have to endure another Season of pretentious old men, or worse, loquacious, overly eager young men and their tittering marriage-focused mothers, I really shall perish. You have no idea how fortunate you are, Jennelle, that your father is not compelled to see you advantageously married. And, Millie, you are the luckiest of us all to have convinced Charles he was in love with you and to ask for your hand. If only Reece would
do the same.”
Millie took a deep breath and blew a wayward strand of her dark hair off her eye. If they were caught, it was highly doubtful that she would be able to convince Charlie of anything again. She glanced out the window. They were just about to cross into Shadwell at Thames, the main entrance to the London Docks. “I want your promise, Aimee, that if we stumble across the thief you will not make a single move until all three of us are sure that he is Reece. Charlie is still not positive this latest event is a simple prank.”
“But you said the thief was only taking odd objects and the items were different each time. Some were of value, but most seemed to be only of interest to Charles. Besides us three, Mother, and Reece, who else would know what my brother really values?”
Millie twitched her lips, uncomfortable that Aimee refused to consider any other possibilities. “I said that it was the randomness that made Charlie question if it really was a thief, or Reece playing a practical joke.”
“Ah, but you also said only Reece would be interested in the items taken. So, it has to be him. And when I catch Reece playing another prank on Charles, he will have no choice but to speak to me. All I need is five minutes. Five minutes and I will know whether what happened between us at Christmas was real or a passing moment of passion,” Aimee countered, contemptuously gritting out the last few words that had haunted her for months.
Millie again glanced out the window and tried to dismiss the ill feeling pressing on her chest. “I hope so, Aimee. I really hope so. Now, when the carriage stops, refrain from speaking unless absolutely necessary. Use the hand signals we discussed and stick to the shadows. I went with Charles to visit the Zephyr a couple of days ago just after it arrived. They had a lot of cargo and less than a hundred ships were anchored in port. With so few needing slips, there is a good chance Charles’s ship is still moored.” Millie began praying but stopped when she realized her prayers were in conflict. She did not know whether she wished for the Zephyr to be inaccessible from the shore, thereby ending this insane quest, or for Aimee to be happy.
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