The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle

by Caroline Lee

Taking a deep breath, he flexed his fingers. Whatever the future held, he knew he could face it.

  But for now, he needed a nice cool drink… of water.

  With his chin up and his shoulders back, he stepped out of his chamber. He paused outside the door to her room and knocked. When no one answered, he pushed open the door, expecting to find her spread under her coverlet with a satisfied grin on her sleepy face.

  But she wasn’t there. What was more concerning was neither was the filthy gown she’d worn yesterday. He frowned thoughtfully as he pulled the door closed once more. Had one of the servants already taken it for washing?

  There was no reason for him to feel uneasy, but that didn’t stop him from pondering what it meant on his way to the solar. Did she have something planned today which she’d forgotten to mention last night?

  “Ye’re looking satisfied, lad.”

  He’d been so engrossed in thought, he’d missed his aunt’s arrival. Startled, he quickly recovered and nodded respectfully. “Good morning, Aunt Jean. How are ye this fine morning?”

  She didn’t even bother to hide her grin as she looked him over. “Not nearly as pleased as ye, I think. The keep is abuzz over the news ye and yer lady wife are finally sharing a bed.”

  Lifting a brow in challenge, he hid his smirk. “Oh, aye? And is that important?”

  Gracefully, she conceded with a nod and a smile. “What ye do with yer wife is yer own business, Jaimie. But we’re pleased our laird and lady have a strong marriage.”

  He was pleased, too—beyond pleased, and knew he owed much to this lady. So he lowered himself into one of the elaborate bows which used to be favored at court. “Thank ye for yer help in arranging the match, Aunt Jean.”

  “For forcing yer drunk arse into it, ye mean?”

  Rising once more, he winked at her. “Aye, that’s what I meant.”

  Chuckling, she reached out and tugged at his queue. “I like this, lad.” Her expression softened. “It suits ye, as does this happiness. I am pleased ye found yer southern treasure!”

  Uncomfortable at her praise, he cleared his throat. “Where are ye off to this morning?”

  “Oh, a woman’s work is never done. Agata asked me to take her place and meet with Cook about our supplies.”

  He nodded. “Could ye ask her to send up something to my solar?” Although the feeling of unease had returned with the mention of Agata being so busy she must share one of her duties, he knew he had to break his fast somehow or he’d be grumpy all day.

  “Aye, for certs, Jaimie,” she said with a nod as she turned for the stairs.

  “Oh, Aunt Jean? Have ye seen Agata this morning?”

  He’d tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but a flicker of curiosity in her eyes when she glanced back at him told him he hadn’t completely succeeded.

  She slowly nodded. “I saw her and that nephew of yers when the sun was only peeking over the horizon. They were both giggling and up to something, but I didnae ask.”

  “Where were they?”

  “In the guest hall upstairs. She was wearing that same filthy gown from yesterday, so I assumed she hadn’t had time to return to her chambers, or she planned on getting dirty again. Is aught amiss?”

  He shook his head and forced a grin, thanking her for the help. But as he stepped into the solar and prepared for the day’s work, Jaimie was frowning.

  There was no reason to be worried about his wife. So why couldn’t he shake this uneasy feeling?

  “Where is the south-land?”

  Agata startled, realizing she’d been following Callan’s footsteps in the dust without really seeing them. They were retracing the path they’d taken yesterday, but her heart wasn’t invested in the search.

  Nay, she was still abed with Jaimie.

  When she’d led him into that room last night, she’d had no idea to what heights he’d take her. And how many times! She felt as if she’d barely slept a wink. When the dawn light had woken her, she remembered her promise to Callan. Slipping out of Jaimie’s arms had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but he’d merely grunted and rolled onto his stomach as she dressed. And it was a good thing, because the lad had been waiting impatiently outside her room, candles in hand.

  What had he asked her? She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to shake away the happy exhaustion which had crept over her. “I’m sorry, lad. What did ye say?”

  Luckily, he hadn’t seemed to notice her distraction. He peered ahead into the darkness, carefully picking his way along the passageway with one hand on the dirty stone wall.

  By the light of her candle, she saw him shrug. “I just meant, Aunt Jean is always saying something about the treasure in the south, or south-land, or something. So, I wanted to ken where that was.”

  Her lips twitched. “So maybe ye can go find the treasure, hmm?”

  “Aye!” He took his hand away from the wall long enough to mimic a great slashing sword fight, hopping forward a few paces and making swooshing noises. “Every great warrior needs a quest, ye ken!”

  “I ken,” she said seriously, and managed not to grimace as he wiped his grimy hand on his kilt before placing it back on the wall.

  A great warrior’s quest? Was that what this was? If she’d been Citrine or Saffy, she might’ve said yes. Citrine often trained with the men and was accomplished with a sword and bow. She’d even dragged her twin along a few times, and they both seemed equally devoted to finding the jewels and saving their family line.

  But Agata? Her great quest in life was building a stable home and having a family. Last year, or even a month ago, when she’d found that marriage contract in Da’s solar, she hadn’t been hopeful about her chances. But the changes Jaimie had made in the last few weeks were remarkable, and she could see herself being quite happy here with him in the future.

  In the future? Nay. She smiled. If she was honest with herself, she was quite happy right now. She was certain Jaimie saw in himself what she saw, strength and perseverance and worth.

  She could love a man like that.

  “Aunt Agata!”

  She jumped again, the candle flame flickering. “Aye?”

  The little boy actually turned long enough to roll his eyes. “I asked where the south-land was! So I could go!”

  Oh. Had she not answered that?

  “’Tis just a saying, lad. Sometimes it means… well, yer father thought it to mean ’twas silly dreaming for things ye cannae have. To him, I think, it was a reminder that nothing good came from looking elsewhere for fulfillment.”

  It was a fine summary of David Mackenzie, actually. The man was not only hard, but refused to dream, doing things the way his father before him had. Thank the good Lord that Callan was much more like his Uncle Jaimie.

  Actually, after what she’d learned last night, it was possible the reason the boy was so much like Jaimie was because he was the lad’s father. She frowned thoughtfully, no longer paying attention to the passageway or what it might lead to. What would change if Jaimie had fathered the boy? Nothing, really. Callan would still become the laird in due time, and Jaimie would lead the clan in the meantime. The two of them were growing close, sharing interests and laughter, and she couldn’t ask for more.

  She just wished there was a way to heal Jaimie’s heart. He’d been through so much with Aileen, and Agata hated to think of how the other woman must have tried to control him. Isn’t that what she was doing? Was she any better?

  “I see the light!” Callan suddenly shouted, right before he darted ahead.

  Sure enough, they soon came to the builder’s mark on the wall and the window high above the training fields. The men were down there again, but she saw no sign of Jaimie. Was he still abed?

  “This is as far as we came yesterday,” Callan reminded her.

  She sent him a smile. “Aye. Are ye ready to press on?”

  He blew out a breath, looking very much like Jaimie for a moment while he considered. “’Twould be easier if ye told me wh
at we were looking for.”

  He’d said it so seriously she had to chuckle. Reaching out to ruffle his hair, she said, “I’m sure it would be, but I told ye, I made a promise no’ to reveal my quest.”

  His eyes brightened. “Like a blood oath?”

  Well, she had no closer blood kin than her sisters, did she? “Aye, just like that!”

  “I guess I cannae ask ye to break that,” he said with a frown. Then, “Maybe a hint?”

  “Ye ken I’m searching for information about my family, aye? So anything about the Sinclairs.”

  “Or a circle with other circles, ye said.”

  Oh, had she told him all that? She shrugged. “Aye. The clue would have to be verra old, a few generations at least. And not out in the open—’twould be hidden. That’s why we’re searching the secret passageways.”

  The lad nodded eagerly. “Can I lead again?”

  He was already striding across the untouched dust, so she hurried to catch up with him. “Remember what yer uncle said! ’Tis dangerous.”

  Callan snorted dismissively. “I’m always careful.”

  Sure enough, he was the one who saw the missing floorboards before she did. They were in a portion of the passage where both walls were stone, but she was already so disoriented she couldn’t tell what part of the keep they were near. Were there other doors or entryways they’d missed? Surely not here in the stone.

  The floor was still wooden, but here the boards had rotted away, or never been installed at all. Instead, a stone ledge followed along the outer wall.

  “Well, now I see what Jaimie meant,” she said thoughtfully, holding the candle out over the depths. The light didn’t penetrate far, and it was impossible to see how far the fall would be. “’Tis time to turn back.”

  “Nay!” the boy said with disappointment. “Look, ’tisnae too far!”

  And before she could stop him, he’d scampered along the ledge to the other side. The scream had barely time to gather in her throat before he turned to her, arms held wide and a proud grin on his face.

  “See?” he nearly crowed. “Naught to worry about!”

  Her heart was still pounding at the sight of him balancing above the nothingness. “Callan Mackenzie,” she finally managed to grate out, “Donae ever do something so rash, so reckless—”

  “Ye wanted to find clues, aye? Pass me yer candle.”

  It was clear the scamp wasn’t going to apologize. It was also clear that this patch wasn’t nearly as dangerous as she’d thought. Sighing, she gave the lad a good frown to let him know what she thought of his recklessness.

  He grinned incorrigibly.

  After passing him the candle—the hole was really no more than an arms-reach—she took a deep breath and stepped onto the ledge. She was too big to fit the same as Callan, so she ended up turning sideways and bracing her hands against the opposite wall to balance herself as she shuffled across. Thank goodness the passageway was narrow!

  When she made it to the other side, the boy’s grin grew. “Good work, Aunt Agata.”

  Lord help me.

  “I’ll go first this time, if ye please,” she said, moving in front of the seven-year-old, who bowed extravagantly as she passed.

  She just barely hid her smirk.

  The next moments passed in silence, with her moving much slower than Callan had, testing each new section of floor carefully before putting her weight on it. Finally, from behind, he spoke again.

  “Aunt Agata? What does Aunt Jean mean when she talks about the south-lands?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Well, ye told me what my father meant when he said it. But when Aunt Jean uses it, she means something else, I ken it.”

  Agata halted while she thought about it. “I suppose for her, it’s more about hoping. When she speaks of her southerly treasure, she means something good worth hoping for.” David had always said that wishing was silly, but Agata knew it was important for everyone to have hope.

  “Oh.” The boy sounded so disappointed she turned. “Ye mean there’s not really a treasure south of here?”

  She ruffled his hair once more. “I donae ken where or how the saying started, lad, but I think the ‘treasure in the south-land’ is just a way of…”

  Trailing off, she pursed her lips thoughtfully. Treasure in the south-land? To a Sinclair, practically everything was in a southerly direction. Mackenzie land certainly was. If someone asked her, she’d say Jaimie was her south-land treasure. Jaimie and Callan and the happiness she’d found here.

  But that made no sense, because she’d never heard the phrase outside of Mackenzie land. They were in the west, so while many lands lie south of them, there were still clans to the north as well. Finally, she shrugged.

  “I suppose we could always ask Aunt Jean. She might ken the origin of the phrase, since she’s always using it.”

  “Aye!” The boy brightened. “She’s ancient!”

  While Agata pressed her knuckles to her lips to keep from laughing, the boy slipped around her in the passageway.

  How would Jean react to being called ancient? Chuckling silently, Agata shook her head and turned to follow the boy. Jean was by no means elderly, but she was old enough to mayhap know the phrase’s origin. While it probably had little relevance, it was a mystery, just like the disappearance of the Sinclair jewels.

  “Aunt Agata, do ye think—”

  She never found out what he’d been about to ask her, because Callan cut off his question with a sudden gasp, which was accompanied by a sound which caused her stomach to drop. They were used to the creak of the ancient floorboards, but this was more of a cracking noise.

  Time seemed to slow as she darted forward, intent on saving the lad.

  He’d just turned to her when the wood gave out from under him, and she saw his precious eyes widen with terror in the light of the candle he held.

  Nay!

  Grabbing his arm, she spun, intent on using her momentum to push him back the way they’d come. The floorboards had seemed sturdy there, and she prayed they’d hold.

  Please God, please God, please God, she chanted silently in beat with her swiftly pounding heart as she swung Callan back toward safety.

  He stumbled back toward the firm footing, his candle sputtering in the wind of their movements, as Agata’s momentum carried her out over the rotten wood. Her first footfall seemed fine, but her second went through the floor, and by the time she stumbled on, the floor was just… gone.

  She heard Callan scream her name as she twisted in midair and made a desperate grab for the edge of the floor, but it was in vain. She had just enough time to meet his terrified eyes before she fell into darkness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jaimie hadn’t been able to shake that uneasy feeling. More than once that morning he’d had to re-read a passage or re-calculate percentages, because his mind was too distracted. And despite what Aunt Jean had teased him about, it wasn’t because he was thinking about his night with Agata. Nay, it was because of the odd expectant feeling in his stomach.

  With a muttered curse, he tossed down the scroll he’d been reading and watched it hit the ever-present wooden map and slither off the side. It was a good thing Edward wasn’t there with him this morning; nothing was getting done.

  He stood and crossed to the window. Should he forget attempting to work and go find her? Would that send her the wrong message, that he couldn’t manage to be parted from her? But that was the truth, he admitted with a frown. He didn’t want to be parted from her, and just the fact that she wasn’t here was making him anxious.

  Or was it more than that?

  He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. When he pulled it from its queue, he absentmindedly pulled it back and re-tied it, still frowning. Where had she and Callan gone off to? Jean said she’d seen them in the upper story, but Agata had been dressed in the same gown from yesterday.

  If she wasn’t planning on being out-of-doors… Jaimie’s head snapped up in realizatio
n.

  The passageways.

  Nay, surely they wouldn’t go in there? He’d expressly told them not to go into the passageways without him, because they were so dangerous. And Agata was intelligent enough to… he groaned. He hadn’t told them not to go into the passages. He’d told them not to go alone.

  I’ll wager they both took that to mean they could go together.

  Memory flashed, hard and sharp, of a summer years ago. Father and David had told him not to go into the passages, but he’d been convinced he could handle whatever dangers lurked, and the hint of mystery was too enticing.

  He’d fallen through the floor where the wood had rotted and gashed his arm so badly infection and fever set in. He’d only escaped punishment because Aunt Jean had lied to his father when asked if Jaimie had disobeyed.

  “Damn.”

  The thought of Callan being hurt was enough to send Jaimie striding for the desk and scooping up the candle stand. It gave faint light here in the bright solar, but would be essential if he was to go into the passages.

  Dear God in heaven, let me be wrong.

  Still, better to check the most dangerous place first, to eliminate that possibility, before checking other parts of the castle.

  The hidden entrance in the solar wasn’t one he’d used as a lad, but he’d discovered it when he’d first returned to the keep after David’s death. Now, he held the candle high as he pulled his dagger from his belt, wedged it into the crack, and levered the door open.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the darkness. He kept his foot against the door so light filtered in, and knew from experience it wouldn’t swing closed without some effort. There were footprints in the dust at his feet, but they were too muddled to be any help. Muddled… as if by a trailing gown?

  Peering down the passage, first one way, then the other, he strained to catch some indication of which direction he should begin his hunt.

  There! Footsteps?

  Relief flooded his veins at the same moment he understood he’d been right. Callan and Agata were in the passages, and judging from how fast those footsteps were coming, something was wrong.