by Caroline Lee
It was humbling and exciting, all at once.
“Should ye be doing that, in yer condition?”
Agata jumped at Aunt Jean’s sharp words, but managed to keep from ruining the smooth line of glue her wide brush was applying. Holding her breath, she finished the stroke and returned the brush calmly to the pot, before fixing the old woman with a glare.
“Are ye no’ supposed to knock?”
Jean waved away the chastisement before sinking into Edward’s chair. “Only when I ken yer husband is in here with ye. That’s a mistake I’ll no’ make again, let me tell ye.”
Agata’s cheeks burned at the reminder of being caught sitting on Jaimie’s lap last week, but she lifted her chin and tried for a stern tone. “And what do ye mean, my condition?”
“The babe, lass!” Jean’s eyes twinkled with teasing.
“I’m no’ pregnant, Aunt Jean.”
The old woman waggled her brows. “Yet, eh?”
This time Agata couldn’t hold her gaze, and did look down at the map with a flush. Yet. In the few weeks since Jaimie had declared his love for her, she was still easing into their new lives. And as much as she wanted to be a mother, she knew these things took time.
“Mayhap,” she whispered.
The way she and Jaimie were with one another, they might be well on their way to making a bairn sooner rather than later, God willing. Or mayhap she was unable to carry a babe, which would explain why David’s seed didn’t take. If that was the case, Agata knew her love for Callan, and his for her and Jaimie, would fill her heart just fine.
Jean, bless her, changed the subject. “Any word from yer sisters?”
Agata couldn’t help but grin as she met the old woman’s eyes again. “Aye! I told them of everything we found here, when Jaimie sent the courier and guards with the jewel we found.”
In the aftermath of their discovery, Agata and Jaimie had explained everything to Jean, although they’d asked her not to tell Edward or the others. The old woman had been helpful.
“And ye told them what I kenned of the saying? How I recall my grandmother using it, and how I always thought it was just a clever phrase?”
“Aye, but it’s more interesting that yer grandmother was a Campbell, because Saffy read through our histories, and our great-grandfather’s second wife was a Campbell as well!”
Jean’s eyes shown with matching excitement. “Does she—do ye think there’s a relation?”
“We donae ken yet, but it’s intriguing. What if our ancestress—only, she’s no’ really, since she was our great-granda’s second wife—sent yer grandmother here with the jewel, and the phrase has been passed down as a hint?”
Jean blew out a breath and sat back in her chair, shaking her head in amazement. “’Tis impossible to ken now, I suppose. But whether it was meant or no’, the phrase certainly led ye to the jewel. Were yer sisters pleased to have it returned?”
Agata nodded. “Aye, although they’re still arguing over what to do with it. Saffy wants to share it with the clan, to prove the legend is wrong and our line isnae cursed. Citrine is determined to find all the jewels and return them together.”
Jean chuckled as she shook her head again. “One day I’d like to meet this sister of yers. What’s her next step?”
“They agree the fact the agate was found under the Sutherland map is suspicious, especially since Pearl was initially supposed to marry the Sutherland laird. Saffy writes that she and Citrine agree that someone needs to investigate the Sutherlands, but I cannae imagine she means her.” Agata chuckled at the outlandish idea. “Going to the Sutherlands would require daring, now the marriage contract has been broken, and Saffy is no’ nearly as bold as Citrine.”
Mayhap a man would have argued the Sinclair Jewels go to their father with the information and request his help. But not Jean. She just smiled and nodded encouragingly. “I shall pray for their success. It would be wonderful if they were to find the rest of the jewels in the Sutherland holding.”
“Aye,” Agata agreed. “Or even one. I donae believe in the magical ability of the brooch to suddenly bring prosperity to our clan. But if our people could see the return of our jewels, mayhap they’d stop believing our line is doomed and work with Da to find a solution. The legend says only the bravest and worthiest Sinclair can restore the jewels, but also that a warrior will lead the clan to glory.”
“And mayhap that warrior will be the next laird?”
Agata shrugged, reaching for her brush once more. “I think ’tis what Saffy hopes, but Citrine is irritated by the notion.”
She and Jean discussed more theories as Agata finished the layer and cleaned her brush. The glue and white paint would dry and be sanded down to form a surface as smooth as canvas. The carved lines would probably need to be re-inscribed before she could paint them black, and the labor of love would occupy her well into the winter.
As would her new family.
Footsteps in the hall told her she’d conjured her loves with her thoughts. Jaimie stepped through the door, looking more handsome than ever. Although he hadn’t cut his long black hair, he wore it pulled back at the base of his neck, and she loved being able to look into his eyes… as well as the fact he’d gained the confidence to allow his people to see his true self.
The weeks since he’d fought the drink seemed a distant memory now, with how his shoulders had broadened, and she knew for a fact he was strong. He walked now, a serious frown on his face, his hands clasped behind his back, nodding thoughtfully to whatever Callan was chattering on about.
The boy walked beside his uncle, his tiny kilt askew, his hands clasped behind his back, his dark hair tucked behind his ears. The fact he was mimicking his hero made Agata’s heart swell with happiness.
She hurried to push aside her supplies and reached for the pitcher of cold water she always had waiting for Jaimie. Although the cravings had lessened the longer he went without spirits, she knew he still appreciated not having to ask for a drink. She was always there with water when the urge came upon him.
Jaimie’s gaze came up and rested on her. He saw the cup of water in her hand and smiled softly. Sweet Mother Mary, he was handsome. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, on their wedding day in the chapel. She’d thought him hideous then, but it hadn’t been because of his scars. Nay, it’d been because of the pain and anger she’d seen in him.
They might not ever know the truth about Callan’s parentage. They might not ever know the truth of the jewels. They might never know the truth of Aileen’s motives when she’d manipulated his heart.
But Agata would go to her grave knowing Jaimie loved her as much as she loved him.
And that was truly a miracle.
He crossed to the desk, took a long draught of the water, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Have ye finished yer work, wife?”
Her brows rose. “Aye. Once this layer dries, I can—”
“Good.” He plunked the cup down on the desk, wrapped his other arm around her, and lowered his lips to hers.
Agata might have protested that Jean and Callan were standing right there, except suddenly, she didn’t seem to care.
It was a long moment before Callan’s laughter penetrated, and Agata pulled away from Jaimie with a gasp. It didn’t seem to stop her husband though, as he just switched his attention to her neck. She intended to remind him his chamber—which she now shared—wasn’t far away, but his lips were sending the most wonderful sensations down to her belly and lower.
Dimly, she heard Jean chuckle and say, “Come, lad, let’s leave them to their work, aye?” and then the door closed.
“Jaimie!” she gasped. “What are ye doing?”
He’d managed to pull the neckline of her gown low enough to plant kisses on the upper slopes of her breasts, but he pulled away and smiled up at her wryly.
“What does it feel like I’m doing, wife?”
Feel. She loved that he could feel again. She buried her fingers in his hair
. “I ken what it feels like, but I wonder why ye would attack yer wife in the middle of the day like this.”
“Attack?” he replied, as if affronted. “I’m merely showing my wife how much I adore her.”
She liked the sound of that. “And how much is that, hmm?”
He met her challenge with a grin. Pulling one hand from his hair, he guided it to the front of his kilt. She sucked in a breath when she felt his hard length straining against the wool. When she gripped it, his pleased groan sent a surge of dampness between her thighs.
“Verra much indeed,” he murmured, already reaching for the hem of her gown. “I adore ye, Agata.”
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Carl Garris of Columbia University, who sat patiently and let me pick his brain about medieval painting techniques while he told me all about his experiences reproducing colors. It was a serendipitous meeting which allowed me to deepen Agata’s commitment to her art.
And as always, I owe a great debt to Alyssa and Violetta.
The Sutherland Devil
Sinclair Jewels
Book Three
Prologue
The Sinclair laird was ailing, and his daughters could tell, despite his blustery attempts to hide it. He sat in the large chair in his solar, the same as always, but his face was pale, and his hands gripped the wooden arms, as if to keep them from shaking.
“Ye’ll be married to the MacLeod lad, and that’s the end of it! I’ll hear no more arguing,” he growled, glaring at the twins in front of him.
Unconsciously, Saffy plucked at the threads of her kirtle, glancing at her sister. Of the two of them, the middle of the Sinclair sisters, Citrine was far braver. Or mayhap, just more foolhardy. She stood now, her hands on her hips, her foot tapping as she frowned fiercely at her father.
“Nay, Da, I’ll no’ marry some boy when ye clearly need me here!”
Saffy did her best to hide her wince, knowing Dougal, the Sinclair commander, was watching stoically. Her twin never backed down from a confrontation, but Da clearly wasn’t up to arguing. Besides, it’s not as if they hadn’t known this was coming. Da had already married off his oldest and youngest daughters. The twins were the only ones left.
Their father labored to pull himself forward, the glare he was sending Citrine reminding Saffy very much of his old self. “I do no’ need ye here, girl! I’m yer laird and father, and if I say ye’re to marry for the betterment of the clan, then ye’ll do so!”
Citrine stomped her foot. Actually stomped her foot like a child, which just showed how much she’d lost control. “Da! Ye’re ill! Ye cannae ask me—”
“’Tis naught,” the older man said, looking exhausted as he sank back in his chair. “I’ll be better in nae time.” He cocked his head slightly, studying the two of them. “But ye’re good daughters to worry so. I’ll no’ send ye away yet.”
Behind him, Dougal made a noise of disapproval. Saffy’s eyes flicked to the large man, who glared at the two of them with his arms folded across his chest. He was Da’s right-hand man, and always had the Sinclairs’ best interest in mind. But she couldn’t remember him ever staring at her or one of her sisters with such disgust before.
Da might believe this illness was naught, but he lacked the strength to even glare at his commander. “Ye think I made the wrong decision, Dougal?” he asked mildly.
“Aye,” came the growled response. “Ye coddle them. Citrine’s duty is to strengthen the alliance with the MacLeods, and I’ll be happy to be the one to drag her to her wedding, if ye cannae.”
Saffy actually backed up a step at the threat in the man’s voice. Since Da had started on this mission to see his daughters married, Dougal had been an enthusiastic supporter. Did he really care so much he’d force Citrine to go?
But where Saffy was cautious, Citrine was daring. She strode toward the desk. “Ye think ye could drag me somewhere?”
Dougal lowered his arms. “There’s nothing ye could do to stop me, lass.”
Citrine was a fair hand with a sword and bow, but Dougal had been the one to teach her what she knew, and he was probably right. Saffy was already moving to pull her twin back when Da spoke.
“Enough.” He winced as he rubbed his stomach, and all three of them turned to him in concern. The old man waved away their stares and pulled himself upright once more. “Citrine will marry, but when I say. She is a loyal Sinclair, a good daughter, and a proud Jewel. Aye?”
Citrine’s shoulders heaved as she tried to calm her breathing, and the muscles in her jaw twitched. Saffy reached out to take her twin’s hand, offering what support she could.
“Aye, Da,” Citrine finally ground out. “I’ll follow yer orders.” Her glare moved to Dougal. “But no’ yet.”
When she turned to stalk out of the room, Saffy kept a tight hold on her hand, leaving herself no opportunity to curtsey or take her leave. But it didn’t seem to matter, the door slammed shut behind them, and Citrine continued her angry walk until they reached their own chamber.
“Can ye believe that man?”
Saffy released her sister while she sank down on the big bed. She and Citrine used to share it with Agata and Pearl, until they’d been married only a short time ago.
“We expected this, Citrine,” she said softly, part calming, part regretful.
Da hadn’t mentioned anything about a marriage contract for her. While she wasn’t sure if she really did want to go off to be some man’s wife, the not knowing was worse. During the winter, Da had announced he’d be looking for marriage alliances for his four daughters, the Sinclair Jewels. Agata, the eldest, had already been married and widowed by then, but Da announced Pearl’s contract first, to the Sutherland Devil.
The man was twice wee Pearl’s age, and rumored to be cold-hearted and vicious, caring naught for the bastards he’d spawned from here to Edinburgh. It was no surprise Pearl—who, as the youngest of the Jewels, had the closest connection to the Sinclair clan—had refused the marriage contract and instead demanded to be allowed to take holy vows. Da had reluctantly agreed, and despite Dougal’s insistence on escorting Pearl—the way he’d demanded to escort Citrine today—had assigned his most loyal bodyguard to the task.
Saffy nor her sisters knew exactly what happened on that adventure, but Pearl and the Sinclair Hound had returned very much in love, and were now married. In fact, judging from the number of times the two of them had slipped away to the loch, she could very well be carrying Da’s first grandchild.
Then, even before Pearl had returned, Agata found her marriage contract with the Mackenzies. It had been a shock, since her intended was the brother of her first husband. But her most recent letter was glowing and full of love…and news about the sisters’ quest.
Aye, Citrine was the one who was most devoted to finding out what had happened to the missing Sinclair jewels—the clan brooch which was said to grant power to the laird—but Agata had done her part. And as the scholar among them, Saffy was just as excited about the possibility of solving the ancient riddle as the news her twin would be married before her.
Although, it must be nice to be wanted.
Over by the window, Citrine had halted her angry pacing and stood with her fingers laced behind her head, staring out at the summer landscape. If Saffy was known as the scholar, and Agata the lady, and Pearl the helper…then Citrine was the firebrand.
And if she wasn’t burning right now, then this was a smolder.
“Citrine?” Saffy prompted carefully, not sure if she wanted to know what her twin was thinking.
“I’ve bought us some time,” Citrine said without turning, her tone speculative. “Da willnae send me away too soon, and I’ll continue to fight against Dougal’s attempts to send me away. But that means I cannae leave.”
Saffy frowned. “Wait, ye want to go to MacLeod land?”
Citrine scoffed without turning. “I’ve no desire to marry the second or fourth or ninth son of a laird. My husband will be strong!”
“Aye, but strength is no’ power.”
“Spoken like someone who prefers scrolls to blades,” Citrine quipped, turning just enough to smirk over her shoulder.
“Spoken like someone who cannae manage to get through an entire lesson without dropping her sword.”
Chuckling at the reminder of Saffy’s ineptness at sparring, Citrine lowered her hands to her hips. “Ye do well enough.”
“No’ nearly as well as ye.” Her twin’s prowess with a blade was well-known among the clan, and she often trained with the warriors, despite Dougal’s irritation. Da never seemed interested in denying this particular fire-eyed Jewel anything. But the twins’ differences weren’t the point. “But ye said ye were no’ able to leave at all? Do ye want to leave, then?”
“No’ with him so sick!” Citrine threw herself down on the bench, sprawling in a way guaranteed to make Agata scold, were she there. “Da says it’s naught, but he’s no’ one to sicken easily. And he’s no’ coughing or sneezing or fevered…it’s his stomach.”
Saffy nodded, having noticed the same thing. “But no one else is ill.”
“Aye, so we cannae even blame tainted meat…”
Citrine’s musings were distracting, and Saffy shook her head as she steered her twin back on the right course. “So ye willnae be leaving?”
“One of us has to.”
When Saffy met her sister’s golden eyes, she understood. “The jewels.”
“Aye,” Citrine breathed.
After Pearl’s departure, the remaining sisters had found a clue to the missing brooch: an ancient tapestry from their grandmother, given to their old nurse for safe-keeping. The tapestry had pointed them to Mackenzie land, where Agata was due to journey. She spent the first weeks of her marriage searching for another clue to the missing brooch, but ultimately found one of the jewels itself.
Saffy scrambled across the bed and reached beneath to pull out the small chest where they’d stored it. Her notes and scrolls were on the top, and beneath them was the carefully folded tapestry. She sat cross-legged on the coverlet and laid each pile around her, eager to reach the bottom of the chest and the only Sinclair jewel they had.