by Caroline Lee
She was breathing heavily as she finished her declaration, and Jaimie realized he was as well. She believed in him? She believed in him so strongly she would make a vow like that?
He shook his head in disbelief.
She nodded in response.
“Yer aunt talks about yer treasure being in the south, aye?” When he nodded, she pressed her finger into his chest. “She’s wrong, ye ken. Yer treasure is here, and one day ye’ll realize it.”
Then, before he could argue further, she stepped back and thrust the dish of paint into his hand. “I’ll show ye,” she declared firmly. “Come.”
Unable to deny her, Jaimie stepped toward the easel. As he turned, she took his hand in hers, and placed her fingers over his.
“Like this,” she said gently.
With a touch as light as a lover’s caress, she showed him how to dip the pad of his thumb into the green paint, and brush it across the board. She stood behind him, the swell of her breasts against him, and he found himself hardly daring to breathe as the opposite side of the valley slowly bloomed beneath their joined fingers. She showed him how to dance across the wood, how to create magic with what was left of his fingers. She showed him how to smear and rub, to bring out shade and sun and the movement of the grasses in the wind. And when she had him dip one of his fingers into the white paint, he somehow forgot how broken he really was.
Jaimie realized she was right. He was capable. He’d beaten his cravings for ale, he’d taken over running the clan business, he’d began training with the men once more.
He was exhausted, overwhelmed, and more than a little scared for the future.
But he was capable. And if that was the truth, if she could prove he could do so much more than he’d thought possible, then was she right about his value as well?
Was he worthy of a woman like Agata? A woman whom fate and that old dragon, Aunt Jean, had thrust upon him as his wife?
Jaimie allowed himself to lean back against her, to revel in the strength of her arms and her convictions as she held his hand and taught him how to paint.
Under their joined fingers, the distant valley was appearing, and it was beautiful.
Not as beautiful as his wife, but remarkable because they’d made it together.
She thought he was worthy, and hers was the only opinion which mattered. If that’s how she felt, Jaimie knew he had to confess his sins. She might think him worthy now, but would she still believe that when she knew how he had failed Aileen?
Nay, he couldn’t think of that now. Not now, not when this trust was still so fragile. Today, he just wanted to enjoy the feeling of his wife’s faith. He couldn’t confess his sins to her now.
But he’d have to. Soon.
Chapter Eight
“Be careful, Aunt Agata! There’s another spider web up here. Would hate to get it in yer hair again!”
The little boy’s cheerful tone belied his warning, so Agata stifled her smile and pretended sternness. “That’s why I’m wearing a veil on this adventure.” She’d learned her lesson on one of their first excursions into the keep’s secret passages. “Besides, ye ken what to do.”
Callan gave a little whoop of excitement as he darted forward with the torch, knocking away the long-abandoned web with far too much enthusiasm.
“Go slowly, lad,” she cautioned as they set out again.
This was their first chance to explore the entrance Callan had found leading from one of the unused guest rooms on the third story. They’d quickly discovered it connected to one of the other passages in one direction, but by turning right and running along the outer wall, they were in new territory. Agata couldn’t help but remember Jaimie’s warning about the danger of these passages, so today’s exploration was going slower than those in the past, much to Callan’s irritation.
“Cannae ye move faster, Aunt Agata? There’s light up ahead!”
Light? That was unexpected.
She was carrying her own candle, so she gathered her skirts in her left hand in a futile attempt to keep them out of the dust. “Lead on, then,” she urged.
The passage was extremely narrow with stone on one side—the outer wall—and wood on the other. There was wood beneath their feet, and Agata suspected some past renovation of the keep had walled up this space and it had been forgotten. Was it really as dangerous as Jaimie had said?
“There’s something…”
The concentration in the boy’s tone cut through Agata’s musings. “What?”
She hadn’t allowed Callan to get more than two paces ahead of her, so when he held the torch up to the wooden wall to their right, she could immediately see the markings he meant, and her heart leapt with excitement.
“Look, Aunt Agata! There’s some kind of writing here. Is it a clue?”
A clue! At last, a clue to what happened to the Sinclair jewels so long ago!
She reached him before he was done speaking, and they both leaned in to examine the wall by the light of their flames. Callan’s hand was pressed flat against the wood, but Agata’s eyes were all that skimmed over the marks burned into the wood.
After the initial excitement, she sighed with disappointment and straightened.
“’Tis just the builder’s mark, lad.” She pointed to the simple straight lines intersecting the letters. “They must’ve branded the wood before they put up this wall.”
The boy slumped against the stone, clearly not caring how dusty he got, and muttered a curse he probably shouldn’t have known yet. “I really thought we’d found a clue. Although I donae see why ye cannae tell me what kind of clue we are looking for.”
She reached out and ruffled his dark hair, not even minding the dirt in it. “If I kenned what we were looking for, I’d tell ye. All I ken is that ’tis a piece of Sinclair history.”
Actually, that wasn’t all she knew. She knew the clue they were looking for would lead them to the location of the missing jewels… but she couldn’t tell the lad that. For one thing, the idea of jewels and treasure might send him off into the passages on his own, and although he was used to poking around unsupervised, her husband’s warning last week had made her unwilling to allow the boy into the passages alone.
But more than the boy, she regretted not being able to tell Jaimie. He nearly admitted he’d explored the passages in his youth, so surely if there was a clue to be found, he would know of it? And even more than that, she wanted to tell him because he was her husband. And the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to share everything with him.
Not just about her search for a clue to the jewels, but about what she held in her heart.
Because the longer she was married to him, the more certain she was that she was falling in love with this man.
When they’d first met, her heart had broken for the pain and anguish she’d seen in him, pain even the drink couldn’t hide. Now that he’d broken the drink’s hold on him, she was falling in love with his unexpected strength and pride. He’d overcome so much, but was still so humble, he thought himself unworthy of praise.
She wondered what he thought about her words yesterday, when she’d stood in the solar and allowed her frustrations out. She’d meant every word; he was worthy of happiness, worthy of love, and she planned on doing her best to convince him.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded to Callan to continue on, full of determination. Determination to find the clues they needed, and determination to teach this husband of hers how she felt.
“Look, Aunt Agata!”
When the boy darted forward in excitement, she almost scolded him, but held her tongue when she saw the same thing he had. Up ahead, the source of the light they’d seen early was a pair of arrow slits in the stone outer wall. She hurried ahead to join him in peering out them.
“They must’ve been walled up when they renovated this wing,” she explained, careful to keep the candle out of the gentle breeze wafting past the openings, knowing she’d need it later.
“I canae see
anything,” Callan complained, standing on his tip-toes. “Just the sky.”
“I donae ken—”
The words died in her throat when she pressed her face to the stone in an effort to see more than what Callan could. Since she was taller, she was able to look down into the field beside the keep…where the men were training.
“What do ye see, Aunt Agata?” the lad asked desperately.
“Naught,” she answered distractedly. “Just the men training.”
Aye, the men were training. And aye, the Mackenzie warriors were an impressive bunch, but they weren’t what held her attention. Nay, that honor went to the shirtless man standing among the circle of cheering warriors, sparring with a grizzled opponent.
Jaimie spun and leapt with an unbelievable grace.
From where she stood, she had a full view of their battle. They weren’t using mock swords, but the heavy blades her father’s men had trained with as well. The summer sun glistened off the sweat streaking Jaimie’s shoulders and back, and when he whirled out of the way of one of his opponent’s strikes, his kilt parted with an intriguing view of one of his thighs. Although he wasn’t as broad as the older warrior, he was more agile, that was clear.
His opponent swung for his head, the smartest target, and rather than blocking it, Jaimie swept his right foot to the side, and at the last moment, ducked and shifted his weight so the other warrior’s sword passed above him. Suddenly, he was within the man’s reach, and Agata caught her breath when she realized how effortlessly he’d made it look.
In the time it took her to blink, Jaimie had shifted his grip on his sword and swung it, catching his opponent across the stomach with the flat of the blade. The circle of warriors broke into cheers as the other man folded over and went down. Agata found herself bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement as well.
“What is it, Aunt Agata? What’s down there?”
“Hmm?” She shook herself. “Oh, naught important. Let us…”
She made the mistake of glancing back down again, and saw Jaimie leaning down to help the other man up. They were both laughing, and the way Jaimie clasped forearms with the warrior—as well as the respect on the faces of the men around them—told Agata that whatever his past failings, the Mackenzie warriors had forgiven Jaimie.
He’d found acceptance, and that was important to her campaign to prove him worthy.
At that moment, Jaimie threw his head back in laughter at something one of the gathered men had said, and the sun caused the skin of his throat to glisten. His hair fell away from his face, and she saw pride there.
It was appealing.
“Agata,” Callan whined again.
“We have to go… um, back.” She straightened and nodded to the boy. “We have to go down. Now. Immediately.”
Despite the boy’s protests, she shooed him back in the direction they came. All she could care about at the moment was the way Jaimie had looked, satisfied and proud and covered in sweat.
Oh dear, mayhap he needed someone to wash his hair again? She realized she was already considering what needed to be done to order him a bath.
“But this passageway was the best one yet,” Callan was complaining as they hurried to retrace their steps toward the chamber where they’d entered it. “There might’ve been a clue—”
“We’ll come back, I promise. Tomorrow morning, first thing.” Then, even her limited experience with an inquisitive and fearless seven-year-old boy overrode the breathless excitement of seeing Jaimie again, so she hastened to add, “But together, aye? Remember what yer uncle said about the dangers.”
The boy scoffed. “’Tis no’ dangerous. Unless ye think spiders are dangerous.”
She poked him in the side with a finger, causing him to squirm. “I donae like them.”
“Ye better no’ be mean to me, then,” he mumbled.
She poked him again, with genuine affection. “I heard that. If ye think to put a spider in my bed, wee one, I’ll tell Cook to prepare goose for a sennight straight.”
The boy groaned at the threat—he hated goose—and increased his pace until they came to the wooden panel he’d discovered. They had to shift together to get back into the guest chamber. Once there, they doused their candle and torch, and she sent him back to his nurse with instructions to wash his hands and face, and maybe the old woman wouldn’t notice the dust over the rest of him.
Although she’d have to be blind not to; they both looked as if they’d been… well, as if they’d been crawling through the spaces between the walls of the keep.
She didn’t even bother to take her own advice as she yanked off her veil and pulled up her skirts and rushed down the stone stairs and through the great hall. She didn’t see Jean until she stepped out of the stairwell and pulled up short.
“Where are ye off to in such a hurry?”
Agata gave a hurried curtsey and a wry grin. “Nowhere in particular, Aunt Jean. I just thought to enjoy the beautiful weather a bit…”
“Hmm.” The older woman nodded knowingly. “And the fact the warriors are all out in the courtyard congratulating yer husband on a victory—that has nothing to do with it?”
Agata’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. “Oh, is Jaimie outside? I had no idea.” She ducked her head to hide her grin, and tried to squeeze past Jean. “Please excuse me.”
But her aunt wasn’t fooled, judging from the laughter which escaped the other woman. “Aye, go on to him,” she said fondly. “But would ye like me to order a bath in his chamber?”
Already on the first step leading to the armory, Agata remembered her earlier plan. “Oh, would ye?”
“Aye, lass,” Jean said gently. “I’ll make sure there’s enough water for both of ye.” She winked and nodded toward Agata’s dust-covered gown. “Maybe Jaimie can wash yer back this time.”
Agata had no idea how the wily old woman had learned of Jaimie’s last bath and how wonderfully it had brought her and Jaimie together. But she just laughed and waved her thanks before reaching for her skirts once more.
She hurried down the steps and through the armory, then burst out of the main door. The bright sun caused her to wince, but she didn’t stop. She had no idea why she was so consumed with excitement. But seeing Jaimie’s pride—and his sweat-slick body—had kindled a need deep inside her, and today she was determined to see her dream of love fulfilled.
The fight had Jaimie’s blood pumping, but knocking Owen on his arse had been more thrilling than Jaimie had remembered. He wanted to throw his head back and howl in victory, but instead, he laughed with the other men and helped his opponent up off the ground, accepting the accolades and ribbing as his due.
“Good to have ye back, milord,” a panting Owen had said as the older warrior clapped him on the shoulder. “Yer sword arm isnae any worse for wear.”
“Aye!” called another warrior. “If ye can knock Owen like that, I’ll gladly follow ye into battle if the Sutherlands get ambitious again!”
The gathered men roared with laughter at that, calling back challenges and threats and predictions, and a warmth spread throughout Jaimie. It was acceptance and happiness and…
And pride.
These men, these warriors, had always been David’s, and Jaimie had trained as one of them throughout his youth. He’d gone away to the Grant holding, where he’d met Aileen, then to court. By the time he’d returned home, he was no longer one of them.
But now…
Ye are worthy.
Agata had said that, and hearing the men’s acceptance and knowing he’d won their praise, Jaimie was beginning to believe it.
“Hey, Owen!” Wee Thomas yelled as he slapped the older man on the back of the head. “Ye smell like a ram fucked a cow! Ye best wash before Margery catches a wiff o’ ye!”
Owen grabbed for the lad, who ducked out of the way, laughing.
“Ye’ve got nae place to talk,” Owen growled, lunging again. “I’ll throw ye in the loch myself!”
As the two
chased through the outer walls, the rest of the men laughed and ribbed one another. “An’ ye, milord?” one of them called to Jaimie. “Ye’ll join us before that pretty new wife of yers catches wind o’ ye?”
Jaimie swallowed and nodded, not sure he trusted himself to speak. He was nigh overwhelmed with pride at their acceptance.
“Och, nevermind,” another called. “’Tis too late.”
The men roared with mirth and made their way toward the distant loch, but Jaimie didn’t go with them. Nay, his attention was stolen by what they’d seen, Agata, her skirt hiked up as she rushed toward him, her honey-gold hair streaming behind her, and an expression of intense joy on her face.
“Husband!” she called as she skidded to a stop before him, breathless and brilliant. “I saw yer victory from—” She made a vague motion toward one of the windows of the upper stories. “Magnificent.”
Nay, it was her smile which was magnificent, and made Jaimie feel as if he were the most important man in the world. Still, he couldn’t seem to make his throat work, but merely nodded, entranced by her joy and beauty.
She took a step forward, and although her smile didn’t lessen, it did change somewhat, as well as the light in her eyes, until he could swear she looked… well, seductive. She looked as if she wanted something from him, and knew how to go about getting it.
He took a deep breath and prayed he could be the one to give it to her.
Her hand rose to his cheek, and he was proud he didn’t flinch when her fingertips brushed against his scarred skin as she brushed his hair behind his ear.
“Ye look hot, Jaimie,” she murmured, her eyes searching his face, then dropping lower to his chest. “Will ye let me wash ye?”
Beneath his kilt, his cock twitched at the memory of the last bath he’d enjoyed, and how he’d imagined her there with him. Although her gaze was still fastened on his chest, he jerked his chin down in a nod. “Aye.”
Her fingers twined through his, and that now-familiar warmth spread up his arm. She tugged him toward the keep—away from the loch, but at that moment he didn’t care—and Jaimie knew he’d follow her anywhere she commanded.