“I can handle my clansmen without your help,” Christy maintained.
“What if the English garrison at Inverness learned of the unrest at Glenmoor? They would crush the uprising before your clansmen could arm themselves.”
“I can handle them,” Christy persisted.
He stared at her stomach. “Can you? When I arrived I heard you tell your clansmen that you had discussed lowering the levies with me. Strange, I don’t recall that conversation.”
“I had to tell them something. I intended to write a letter of protest.”
Sinjun frowned. “I wonder why Julian never mentioned the increase in levies. Glenmoor is mine, after all.”
“How nice of you to remember,” Christy mocked. “How do you intend to help starving villagers?”
Sinjun flinched. It hurt to know she thought so little of his ability to accept responsibility. He groaned inwardly, recalling those times in London when he’d spoken disparagingly of his Scottish wife and holdings. She must have bitten her tongue to keep from lashing out at him.
Sinjun searched Christy’s face, as if trying to unlock the secrets of her soul. Her glittering green eyes presented a challenge he could not ignore, and her full lips provoked and lured at the same time.
He recalled how those same lips had opened sweetly for him. How his tongue had explored all her tantalizing secrets. How she had deftly drawn him into her web of lies. She’d let him think he had seduced her, and he was amazed at how easily he had fallen under her spell. He had gobbled up her lies, every single one. God, what a fool he’d been! Lord Sin, the master of seduction. What a laugh.
His hooded eyes raked over her, finding her just as beautiful, just as desirable as he remembered, and his anger intensified. He wasn’t supposed to know about this child, and that incensed him even more. He’d always been careful to withdraw before giving up his seed, but Flora had all but asked for a child, and he’d wanted to draw out the pleasure until every last drop was drained from him.
Damn her! He saw her watching him, her eyes wary, her body tense. What did she expect him to do? Attack her? His eyes lingered on her lips, and suddenly he knew what he wanted to do. She was his wife, wasn’t she? As if reading his mind, she retreated a step. He reached for her.
She darted away. “What do you want?”
Sinjun smiled as his arm snagged her waist, bringing her against the unyielding wall of his chest. “Aren’t you going to welcome your husband properly?”
Her eyes blazed defiantly. “Why should I?”
“You liked me well enough in London. We were lovers. I have explored every inch of your body and you mine. I know when I please a woman, and you enjoyed me every bit as much as I enjoyed you. Deny it if you want but you’d be lying.”
“Of course I wanted something from you,” Christy defended. “Don’t you understand? I needed an heir for Glenmoor. Calum would have taken me against my will had I not tricked you into consummating our marriage and giving me a child.”
“No one takes what’s mine,” Sinjun said savagely, surprised by his vehemence. For years he hadn’t spared a thought for his wife. Scotland and Christy were only a dim memory. But now, after having her in his bed for three months, just thinking about another man making love to her sent him into a veritable rage.
“Let me go, Sinjun.”
“No. You wanted a husband and now you have to suffer one.”
A low growl rumbled from his chest as he brought his mouth down to hers. Let her deny it now, he thought. She could play the unwilling bride all she wanted, but he knew better. She was a hot little wench, as eager for him as he was for her. His mouth battered hers, his lips hard and punishing. He intended for his kiss to be bruising enough to teach her a lesson in obedience, but then her scent enveloped him and he forgot everything but the warmth of her body, the sweetly curved lips beneath his, and her arousing essence that had pursued him in his dreams.
He parted her lips with his tongue and tasted the sweetness of her mouth. She fought him, dammit. To the credit of her unrelenting pride, she tried to push him away. He held her tighter, savoring the unique taste of her. Memories of their explosive passion pierced through him like lightning. Her breasts, so perfect for his hands, the tight sheathing of his shaft, the way she arched up against him as he moved inside her. The steamy nights in her bed, their sweat-slicked bodies moving together in perfect harmony, all these he remembered with mounting ardor.
Suddenly Christy gave a mighty shove and backed away from him, trembling, her eyes wide and troubled. She was panting, her chest rising and falling with every quick breath she took.
“No! I won’t let you do this to me!”
Sinjun stiffened, his mood shattered. “Do what, wife? Tis nothing we haven’t done before.”
“I was a different person then. You want a wife no more than I want a husband. Let us part on friendly terms.”
Sinjun muttered a curse. “You carry my child. It takes more than friendship to make a baby. Why pretend we’ve never been lovers?”
“Because it’s over, Sinjun,” she said bluntly. “I got what I wanted and you had a willing mistress for a time. No one need ever know about our bairn if you don’t want them to. I’ll never return to London and I know how much you hate the Highlands. Should you someday find another woman you wish to marry, you can divorce me. Lord Mansfield’s influence should clear the way for you.”
Bloody hell! Why did she have to sound so damn cold-blooded and logical? “The first thing I’m going to do is send a message to Julian concerning the increase in levies. Sir Oswald should be back in London by now. A few questions about the increases should clear up the matter. Meanwhile, I have to do something to calm your rebellious clansmen. Do you feel well enough to accompany me to the hall?”
“I’m fine. ‘Twas the shock of seeing you at Glenmoor that made me faint. I’m healthy as a horse.”
His gaze lingered on her face. “You certainly look healthy enough. Glowing would be a more accurate description.” He offered his arm. “Don’t think for a minute this is settled between us, Christy. I’m angry. Damn angry. You took something from me you had no right to.”
Christy accepted his arm with ill grace. Sinjun thought she had been properly chastised until she delivered her parting shot. “Did you have some other woman besides your wife in mind to bear your bairn?”
Sinjun refused to be goaded. She had already chewed him up and spit him out. How much more could he take? No woman had ever treated him as shabbily as his own wife. He had known Christy Macdonald was trouble the first time he’d laid eyes on the seven-year-old hoyden. He’d never expected her to grow into a provocative beauty with a body that would tempt a saint. And the good Lord knew he was no saint.
He had become infatuated with his own wife. What a bloody coil. But he was finished with playing the dupe. His feelings had cooled considerably after discovering exactly whom he had made his mistress in London. What he felt now was rage for being lied to and used. Unfortunately, though he was loathe to admit it, he still wanted her.
They found Christy’s clansmen milling around in the hall, muttering among themselves and drinking a powerful Scottish brew made from barley, which could put a strong man under the table within an hour. Conversation halted when he and Christy entered. The mood was still volatile, the people sullen and withdrawn.
Sinjun felt a prickling sensation along his spine and instinctively knew he had no friends here. That thought rankled, and suddenly something shifted and changed within him. This was his land, dammit! Responsibility was a concept so utterly foreign that it took him a moment to digest his newfound sense of loyalty to these Highlanders whom he had disdained most of his life. Conscience was something he thought had died of neglect years ago.
“Did the blackhearted sinner hurt ye?” Calum asked as he shoved through the crowd to Christy.
“I’m fine, Calum,” Christy assured him. “It was a shock to see Lord Derby here so soon after I left him in London, that’s a
ll.”
Calum sent Sinjun an ominous glare. “Since yer here, yer lordship, ye should know how we feel.”
“I’m listening,” Sinjun said, bracing himself.
“I am Calum, chieftain of Clan Cameron,” Calum said with importance. “The Macdonald is our laird, and her clansmen are concerned for her welfare. Ye have been no proper husband to her. We dinna want ye here. Go away and leave us in peace.”
Sinjun went on the defensive. “Glenmoor and its domain is mine. And like it or not, I am your laird’s husband.”
A knot of disgruntled Scotsmen gravitated around Calum. Camerons, lending him support. They were all big, intimidating men, but Sinjun was no coward. He stood his ground, his body tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Calum’s grin did not reach his narrowed eyes. “Accidents do happen, yer lordship. ‘Twould be easy enough to rid Christy of a husband she doesna want.”
Sinjun sent Christy a shuttered look. “Are you sure she doesn’t want me? Perhaps you should ask her. Kill me and I guarantee that Glenmoor will be swarming with the king’s soldiers,” he warned.
A tense silence followed as the Highlanders mulled over Sinjun’s words.
“Listen, all of you!” Christy shouted into the strained atmosphere. “There will be no talk of killings, Calum Cameron. Sinjun is my husband, and I carry his bairn. Go home, all of you. There is nothing more to be discussed.”
“Wait,” Sinjun ordered. “There is something more I wish to say. I don’t know why your levies were increased, but I certainly intend to find out.”
“‘Tis not just this year,” Donald shouted, “but the year before, and the year before that!”
Sinjun frowned, wondering not for the first time why Julian hadn’t mentioned the fact that he’d been raising levies on his holdings. He usually discussed business matters concerning Glenmoor before acting on them.
“I don’t have the answer, but I will find out. When my coachman leaves for London tomorrow he’ll carry a message to my brother, asking him to look into the matter. Meanwhile, no one will be required to pay levies this quarter. Furthermore, I will personally visit your homes to see what can be done to improve living conditions.”
His speech was met with cautious approval, despite open hostility from the entire Clan Cameron.
“I’ll wait and see how much yer fancy words are worth before I pass judgment,” Calum growled, apparently unappeased.
Then he turned and stormed from the hall. The crowd quickly dispersed after that, leaving Sinjun and Christy alone.
“That was generous of you,” Christy said, a hint of acerbic approval in her voice. “But can we trust the word of an Englishman?”
Chapter 6
Christy locked Sinjun out of her bedchamber that night. After turning the air blue with profanities, he followed a silently gloating Margot to an unoccupied room, cursing Christy Macdonald and Flora Randall and any other name she chose to use. He didn’t need this. He’d been happy and carefree in London, maintaining his reputation and using his God-given talents to pursue his hedonistic lifestyle. He wanted to leave these cursed Highlands, but how could he? Christy was carrying his child, and he had the compelling urge to remain long enough to see what he or she looked like.
Sinjun found his belongings piled against the wall in the chamber assigned to him. Two trunks and a small bag. He didn’t know how long he’d be required to stay, so he’d brought nearly his entire wardrobe. He’d also had the foresight to bring a small casket of gold sovereigns, and another with silver coins, hidden inside one of the trunks.
Before retiring that night he spoke with John Coachman about the return trip to London early the following morning. He had composed a letter to Julian and gave it to John to deliver to his brother. Weather permitting, the letter should reach Julian within a fortnight. That meant it would be at least four weeks before he received Julian’s reply, which he hoped would clear up the mystery of the increased levies. If things continued as they were, a rebellion would result. Christy wasn’t strong enough to control the Cameron chieftain.
Yet he had to admire Christy for the way she’d held her clan together since old Angus’s death two years ago. It had never occurred to him that she might have needed him. He’d left her on her own, thinking he was doing them both a favor, while in reality he had left her to deal with things that needed a man’s firm hand. When he compared Christy’s problems to the profligate lifestyle he enjoyed, he felt inadequate and shallow. And he didn’t like the feeling.
For the first time in years, Sinjun had a glimmer of what Julian had been trying to drum into him. When he’d heard about his nickname, he’d actually been pleased. Lord Sin. Delightfully wicked, marvelously decadent, and he’d spent his adult life living up to its promise.
Lord, what an absolute ass Julian must think him.
The following morning, after a night of intense introspection, Sinjun saw John Coachman off and went to the hall in search of food. Christy was already breaking her fast with Margot and the young man he recognized as Christy’s London coachman.
“You remember Rory Macdonald, don’t you?” Christy asked, nodding toward the sullen young man who was regarding him with resentment.
“I remember the face but not the name,” Sinjun said, taking a seat beside Christy. Immediately a short, round woman came in from the kitchen. She paused beside Sinjun, scowling unpleasantly.
“Do ye want something to eat, yer lordship?” she asked curtly.
“I’m sure Lord Derby is hungry, Mary,” Christy said reprovingly. “Bring him what we’re eating.”
Sinjun grimaced at the oat gruel Christy was spooning into her mouth. He didn’t like pap. “I’d prefer eggs and steak,” he said, smiling at Mary.
“Ye dinna want oats?” she asked, clearly affronted.
Sinjun shook his head. “I don’t like oats.”
“Did ye hear mat, Christy? The mon dinna like oats. All Scotsmen worth their salt eat oats in the morning.”
“Bring Lord Derby steak and eggs, Mary,” Christy said on a sigh. “ Tis his home, he can have what he wants for breakfast.”
Mary sent him a disgruntled look, then, with a swish of her skirts, stomped back to the kitchen.
“I trust you slept well, my lord,” Christy said.
“So I’m ‘my lord’ now, am I?” Sinjun replied, scowling. “I’m your husband, remember? You used to call me Sinjun.”
Color pinkened her cheeks. “Your coach left this morning without you, Sinjun. We have a few spirited horses in our stables, perhaps you’d prefer to ride one of them back to London.”
“Why are you so anxious to be rid of me?” His face darkened. “Is there another you would prefer to call husband?”
Her reply was forestalled when Mary appeared with Sinjun’s steak and eggs. He jumped when she banged the dish down in front of him. “Dinna choke on the steak, yer lordship,” she said sweetly. Then she whirled and marched back to her domain.
Neither Margot nor Rory did anything to hide their amusement. “Enjoy yer breakfast, yer lordship,” Margot said, rising. “Duties await me.” She sent Rory a speaking glance. “Are ye coming, Rory?”
Rory scraped back his chair. “Aye.”
“Wait,” Sinjun said around a mouthful of steak. “Since there are horses in the stables, I’d like to inspect my land and perhaps ride through the village today. I’ll require Rory’s assistance. Can you be ready in an hour, Rory?”
Rory slid an inquiring glance at Christy before answering. It galled Sinjun that Rory needed Christy’s approval when he was the lord of the manor. But he supposed it would take time for the Macdonalds, Camerons, Ranalds and Mackenzies to accept his authority as landowner. Winter was swift approaching and he doubted he’d be traveling until spring thaw made the roads passable again. According to his calculations, Christy would deliver his child sometime in March. He still had several months yet in which to decide what his future would hold where Christy and the child were concerned.
“I’ll go with ye, yer lordship,” Rory said, sounding pleased despite his scowl. “I’ll saddle the horses and meet ye outside in an hour.”
Rory left immediately. Sinjun devoted his attention to his food. His healthy appetite surprised him. In London he rarely rose before noon. Since his stomach was never at its best after a night of carousing, he ate sparingly during the early part of the day. Dinner was usually very late, possibly a midnight buffet at some social event or other. He couldn’t explain his appetite this morning, unless it was due to his enforced abstinence during his trip to the Highlands. He hadn’t touched a drop of anything stronger than ale since he left London.
“How long do you intend to honor us with your presence?” Christy asked as she pushed her empty bowl aside.
“Be careful, wife, I’m still bloody angry at you. I’ll let you know when I decide to leave. Did it ever occur to you I might want to learn more about my holdings?”
“No. That thought never occurred to me,”
Christy said bluntly. “You’re staying to punish me.”
His gaze raked her. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m staying because ‘tis time I took an interest in my holdings.”
“Damn interfering Englishman,” Christy muttered beneath her breath. “I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you.”
Sinjun dropped his fork, his anger mounting as he scraped his chair away from the table. “You needed me for one thing, madam.” He gazed purposefully at her stomach.
Christy faced him squarely, fists clenched, chin firmed, eyes blazing hotly. “Aye, my lord. Had I not wanted something from you I would never have debased myself. Do you know how embarrassing it was to play your whore? I’m your wife! Such subterfuge wouldn’t have been necessary had you been a proper husband to me. You wore me like a trophy upon your sleeve for the benefit of your friends. All of London whispered about Lord Sin’s latest mistress. God, how I hated it!”
A Taste of Sin Page 9