The silence stretched on, but he was used to it. Pearl, for her part, kept her attention on her father. Finally, the Sinclair sighed and lifted his head. He looked…beaten.
“Ye’re sure, wee one?” he asked quietly.
Pearl’s answer was immediate. “If you were to make me choose, aye. I donnae want to leave, but this suits me better.”
“Sutherland can be a powerful enemy.”
Gregor’s heart jumped at the mention of the man who had reason to want him dead, but Pearl scoffed.
“No contract has been signed. They might call him a devil, but I donae think he’d begrudge me taking vows. I ken you will placate him.”
Vows? Holy vows?
“I still say this is ridiculous,” Sinclair grumbled, frowning at his youngest. “Ye donnae have a submissive bone in yer body, an’ ye think to find a place at some holy order? Ye can barely tolerate my rule, and I’m yer laird an’ father!”
From his place by the door, Gregor watched a tear leak out the corner of her eye and roll down her cheek.
“And I’ll always love ye, Da. Please donnae send me away.”
The Sinclair scowled. How could any man’s heart remain stone after hearing a plea like that? But Duncan Sinclair was stronger than Gregor expected, or had more experience dealing with his daughter’s appeals. He straightened in his chair and reached for a piece of parchment.
“This is yer choice, daughter. I’ll write to the Abbess of Elcho Priory, an’ beg her to take my rebellious, obstinate lass. Ye’re getting nae dowry from me, girl.”
Pearl was openly crying now, but stood strong. For Gregor’s part, his heart was hammering in his chest. Holy vows? Elcho Priory? What had Pearl gotten herself into that this was her choice? And when would she leave?
“I’ve never asked ye for a dowry, Da. I would stay here always, with my clan.”
Duncan’s brows met over his eyes as he wrote. “An’ I would have ye safely settled wi’ a husband before I die. But ye lack obedience an’ understanding.”
A husband. With the marriage alliances the Sinclairs had made over the last months, Gregor had known Pearl would be married soon. Married and whisked away from the keep, safe in some distant laird’s holdings and bed.
And that’s how it should be. She deserved the best man the Highlands had to offer. The Sinclair keep would be a colder place without her in it, but it was right and necessary. With this new twist, however, it seemed Pearl would be leaving sooner rather than later for an equally distant location.
But she didn’t belong cooped behind an abbey’s walls, fearing raiders and bandits. She belonged with a clan, people who could love her, and people she could love in return.
It wasn’t his place to say aught, and he wouldn’t. But that didn’t stop Gregor from shifting his weight and saying a prayer for her happiness.
He’d caught the laird’s attention. Sinclair looked up from the mysterious scribblings on his parchment to frown in Gregor’s direction.
“Ye’ve heard?” he asked curtly.
Gregor nodded once, his expression as unchanged as the stone of the solar walls. He would never indicate he disapproved of the man’s decisions.
“Good.” The laird’s gaze flicked back toward the young woman standing so bravely before him. “My daughter has decided to join a nunnery, a fool choice. But bein’ a devoted father, I’ll coddle her whims.”
Pearl’s eyes narrowed, and her father looked away before she responded to his words.
“Ye’re escorting her to Elcho Priory, Hound. Gather the men you need to deliver her safely. You leave at first light.”
Gregor had devoted the last decade of his life to this man, thwarting death and danger to keep his laird alive. But now Sinclair asked the impossible, deliver Pearl to a life she would come to hate. Gregor’s mind swirled behind his stoic expression, wondering if there was a way to get out of this order.
But no, this was a rare privilege. Sinclair was trusting his daughter’s safety to him, a nobody. His Hound.
Gregor swallowed, knowing there was only one response.
He slammed his fist against his chest and bowed deeply. He would take the mission, and be proud to accomplish it.
As he straightened, he met Sinclair’s eyes once before flicking his gaze to Pearl’s. She was watching him, her silvery-grey eyes sad.
She has made her choice.
He nodded to show her he would do his duty, then turned on his heel.
It was late, but the men needed to prepare. He would take three others, the strongest fighters. Pearl would be safe on this journey to her future. He would ensure it.
Before closing the door behind him, he met her gaze once more. That pink tongue darted out across her lips, and his eyes dropped to them. It was a shame no man would know their taste, now.
He hoped she understood what her decision meant.
And him? She would be gone from his life forever, the way it should be, and it would be his doing.
Because he was the Sinclair Hound, and his master had ordered it.
Chapter Three
The weather matched the mood in the Sinclair courtyard the next morning, as Pearl had to say goodbye to everything she’d ever known. In typical Highland fashion, yesterday’s clear skies had given way to a misty drizzle.
Pearl stepped out of the keep and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair. Knowing she had days of horseback riding ahead of her, she hadn’t bothered to fuss over her hair or gown.
Of course, the abbess willnae care how I look or dress.
Although she’d never been one to worry about her appearance, she supposed soon it wouldn’t even be a consideration. Knowing that, she’d left most of her gowns in the trunks she shared with her sisters.
As if conjured, Saffy, Citrine, and Agata appeared and hugged Pearl. She allowed herself to sink into their arms, knowing this could very well be the last time they would all be together. Once she took holy vows, she surely wouldn’t be allowed to visit.
Donae think of that. Focus on the bright spots of yer future. Soon, ye will have yer own people to care for again, and Da willnae be able to marry ye off to some stranger.
Still, it wouldn’t be like home.
Saffy’s tears matched her own as Pearl forced herself to slip out of their embrace. Agata looked disappointed—in Pearl, or in the situation?—while Citrine’s amber eyes flashed in anger. They all reacted differently, but Pearl knew her sisters were as heartbroken as she.
If she allowed herself, she could stand there at the top of the steps indefinitely.
“Tell Da I love him, and I will write,” she said, sniffling.
Agata nodded. “Aye. And I’ll make sure he isnae so angry. ’Tisnae good for his heart.”
“Good.” Pearl nodded, dreading the inevitable leave-taking. Life would continue without her.
“Oh, wee sister!” Saffy cried, throwing her arms around Pearl once more.
But Citrine clucked her tongue and pulled her twin away. “Let her be off, else we’ll all melt in this drizzle.”
Her sister was right. The men Da had assigned to escort her had already gathered, and Pearl didn’t want to be the cause of any irritation. They had enough reason to dislike her; she was the one dragging them away from their duties. And after that scene the Hound had witnessed last night, she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of the man any further.
But she couldn’t help remembering that look he’d given her right before he’d left her alone with Dougal and her father. Although his expression had been stoic as usual, she thought she saw disappointment in his eyes.
Shaking her head at the foolish thought, she forced a smile, even though tears mingled with the raindrops on her cheeks. “I’ll miss ye, too, Citrine.”
The sister in question rolled her eyes, then pulled Pearl in for a brusque hug before pushing her away and grabbing Saffy’s hand.
“We love ye, wee sister. Remember that,” she said.
On either side of he
r, Saffy and Agata nodded solemnly, and Pearl knew the moment had come.
She glanced up at the upper windows of the keep, hoping Da had relented and was willing to come see her off. If it was bad enough leaving the only home she’d ever known, it was even worse when she realized Da didn’t even see fit to bid her farewell.
Her eyes teared up once more when she realized it might be some time before she felt her father’s arms around her again or heard him call her his “Wee Pearl.”
Good-bye, Da.
Her heart heavy, she turned and hurried down the steps. Five horses waited in the courtyard. Three had men atop them, shifting about as if anxious to be off. But the man closest, the one holding the reins of two lovely mares, stood silent and still, watching her without expression.
Her father’s Hound.
Pearl paused in front of him and took a deep breath, aware of his gaze on her face. “I am ready, sir.”
He inclined his head, seeming to pay no attention to the rain. A flicker of his midnight-blue eyes toward the main door to the keep, then up toward the upper window, was over in a heartbeat. But when his gaze once more returned to her face, she thought she saw the question in his eyes.
“Nay,” she said softly, trying a brave smile. “Da isnae coming to wish me well.”
Mayhap he doesnae wish me well.
The Hound might have guessed her thought, because she saw a flash of pity before he lowered his eyes once more with a nod. Before she could wonder at that, he’d turned to the horses and prepared to leave.
She moved to the mare’s side, but just as she prepared to mount, a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist. Before she could finish her gasp, she was deposited safely in the saddle, and the Hound was staring up at her.
Her side seemed to burn where he’d touched her, even though several layers of wool stood between her skin and his. And although he dropped his hands as soon as she was settled, she felt his grip long after.
Still, she managed to nod her thanks, and he stepped away—silently, of course.
She looked up and waved to her sisters one last time… then they were off.
It was easier to think of him, and her reaction to him, as they rode away from her home. She glanced sidelong at him as the men fell into position behind them.
The Hound rode well, his body relaxed and fluid as he rolled with the horse’s gait. His cream-colored shirt was already damp, sticking to his broad shoulders under the blue and green Sinclair plaid. The sleeves were rolled up, and he rested his fist on his thigh, allowing her to see the faint scars around his wrists.
They matched the one which circled his neck under his chin.
His dark eyes flashed her way, and she looked down, embarrassed to be caught staring. When, flushing, she glanced back at him, his gaze was still on her. Caught in the indecision of looking away once more or offering conversation, she hesitated too long and ended up smiling in embarrassment.
His brow twitched.
It might’ve been an acknowledgement, or mayhap he had to sneeze. Still, it made her feel a little better.
But when his gaze dropped to her lips, she remembered the way he’d looked at her last night. Regretful, disappointed. Today she didn’t see that in his eyes, just…interest?
The knowledge made her warm, which made it odd her body’s response was a shiver.
Immediately, his eyes met hers, and the brow rose further in question.
Her smile felt as weak as she did when she lied. “Just a wee chilled, I’m afraid.”
He nodded and faced forward once more. Leaning to his left, he reached into the saddlebag and pulled out a spare plaid.
When he held it out to her, she hesitated. That’s when he tucked his reins under one powerful thigh, shook out the material, and held it in two hands toward her. She nudged her horse closer, and he draped the plaid around her shoulders. Before she could catch her breath at his nearness, he’d pulled the material forward to better shelter her from the rain, then wrapped it snugly around her.
He’d pulled his hands back before Pearl could fully acknowledge the way his touch made her feel, and his attention was on their surroundings once more.
In that moment, she was struck with a certainty: whoever this Hound was, he cared about her wellbeing. It was likely only because of her father, for no one could doubt his loyalty to Da, but still…the Hound wasn’t treating her as if she was some annoying task. The look in his eyes told her he genuinely cared about her comfort and feelings.
The thought cheered her more than it should.
So much so, when they reached the edge of Sinclair lands, she pulled her horse up and allowed it to prance sideways a bit. She lifted her head, inhaling the cool spring air, welcoming the mist which dampened her cheeks.
The Hound halted his men behind her, and glanced at her questioningly. She gave him a sad smile.
“If ’tis to be the last time I breathe Sinclair air, I want to savor it.”
Slowly, he took in the distant fields and high mountains. Then he settled into his saddle once more and gave her a long stare, then nodded.
As if he approved of her silly sentiment.
She took several deep breaths until she thought her chest might burst. And although she was sure it wasn’t done on purpose, she noticed him inhaling and exhaling in unison with her.
“I cannae be sad forever,” she whispered to herself, her gaze on the only home she’d ever known. “This is my choice, and I will be happy.”
I will be.
This would be an adventure. Citrine was the daring one of the Sinclair Jewels, always ready for a new experience, so Pearl would try to capture some of that spirit. This was her choice, and she would not feel sad about it.
She lifted her chin, firmed her resolve, and told herself she was ready for this.
When she wheeled her horse around to set off southward toward the Priory, the Hound lifted his fist, and his men followed her.
During the afternoon, Pearl found herself riding within the protective circle of the men. The Hound rode in front, in the middle of the road, with Fergus behind her. William and Mungo were on either side of her. Although the men scanned the scrub and distant paths for movement, they were willing to chat with her.
Well, not the Hound.
“Oh, aye, Lady Pearl. We’re the best o’ the Sinclair warriors. We’ll get ye to yer destination safely, ye have my word.”
It was impossible not to smile at the gregarious William. He’d always been a charmer, which is why Citrine had spent her adolescence stammering and blushing whenever he’d say aught to her, even though he was younger.
“Is that so?” she teased. “Fergus, I’ve seen use a sword, and Mungo certainly is braw. But you?”
His eyes twinkled as he leaned slightly in his saddle, as if imparting a secret. “I’m nae so bad wi’ a bow.” He patted the quiver strapped to his saddle. “I think the Hound chose me for this mission because he kenned I was yer age. I think he wanted ye to feel like ye had a friend along.”
Pearl felt her cheeks heating. While she’d never considered William a friend, it was impossible to deny he was young and cheerful, at least compared to the other warriors. Had the Hound really assigned William for her benefit?
“That was…kind of him,” she managed.
Nodding, William sat upright once more. “Aye. Well, ye cannae call him ‘kind’ exactly, but he thinks o’ his men’s well-being, and not all commanders do that.”
At the word, she looked sharply at the younger man. “He’s not yer commander, is he?”
William shrugged. “Nay, but the men respect him.”
Respect.
“Do you…do you ken his name?”
The younger man flashed a grin her way. “Ye mean his mam didn’t call him Hound?”
She managed a smile at William’s joke, but didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she rode, the Hound’s extra plaid pulled tightly around herself, and stared at the man’s back.
Who is he
? A mystery, that was certain. He had no ranking, no position in the clan, but he had his men’s respect, and Pearl knew how important that was.
The mystery kept her mind spinning for the rest of the day, making up stories and possible names for the silent man before them. It was a much better way to spend the hours than obsessing over her future or what she’d left behind.
The other men seemed to sense her purpose, and drew her into conversation whenever she was silent for too long. Amiable William and kind-hearted old Fergus quizzed her on types of plants and herbs, and they all discussed the differences in the landscape as they rode southward. The land was still very much the same as her home, but soon the mountains would be distant.
By evening, the rain had stopped and the night turned cloudy, but she was unwilling to remove the plaid, even as she became warm inside her cloak. When the Hound finally called a stop, her legs and backside were aching. She wasn’t used to such long hours in the saddle, but it was necessary.
And when William helped her down from the mare, she was surprised by the flash of irritation she felt, knowing it wasn’t the Hound’s hands on her waist.
Hmm.
He kept his distance while the other men set up camp and cooked dinner. Before she sat down to eat, she carefully removed and folded his plaid. When she held the bundle out to him—noting how closely the blue in the wool matched his eyes—his fingers brushed against hers as he took it. That same strange warmth made her skin tingle, and she tamped down another shiver.
His eyes were gentle as he nodded to her, as if he understood her appreciation, and he turned toward the largest pine tree around their camp. It had kept the ground underneath relatively dry and the pine needles promised softer ground.
While eating the stew Mungo had made, she watched from the corner of her eye as the Hound scraped together some of the pine needles, then placed a wide length of oiled leather on top of them—to keep her dry? The plaid went next, and when he stood, there was a pallet set up under the tree.
The Sinclair Hound Page 3