by Caroline Lee
The large agate—nigh as big as her palm—was perfectly round and smooth, flecked with gold, just like Agata’s eyes. Their oldest sister and her new husband had followed a clue in an old family saying, and discovered the jewel hidden inside a wooden map of the Highlands…under the space representing the Sutherland holding.
“Ye think one of us needs to go to the Sutherlands, do ye no’?” Saffy was sure that’s what her twin meant, but needed confirmation.
“Well, Pearl cannae go!” Citrine threw her hands up in exasperation. “She’s our wee sister—it’s my job to protect her.”
“Nay, ’tis Gregor’s job now.”
Citrine rolled her eyes. “Aye, ye’re right. But she’s no’ part of this mission. She’s a wife now, and likely to be a mother soon, judging from the moon-eyed looks the Hound keeps giving her. The Sutherland clue Agata sent was a good one.”
But scary. Saffy swallowed. “Mayhap we should wait for her to finish her work with the map? She said she’d write again if she found aught else.”
“Like the rest of the jewels?” Citrine shook her head before Saffy could answer. “They’re no’ there. Were they, she would have found them already.” She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees. “The tapestry led us to the Mackenzies, where one jewel was hidden. The Mackenzie clue is pointing us to the Sutherlands. Ye ken I’m right, Saffy.”
Staring down at the large stone in her palm, Saffy had to admit the truth. “Aye.” She took a shuddering breath. “And that’s no’ all.”
Her twin shifted, excitement evident in her voice. “Ye found something in the histories?”
Reluctantly, Saffy nodded and looked up, meeting Citrine’s gaze. “Remember, our great-grandsire’s second wife was a Campbell?”
“Aye, and so was the Mackenzie’s ancestress!”
“They were sisters.”
Citrine whistled long and low while she considered the information. “So that would explain how the jewel got to the Mackenzie holding!”
Saffy bit her lip, unsure if she should volunteer the rest of what she’d found, knowing it would be the final piece they needed. The clue which would send either her or Citrine to the Sutherland holding, where the devil himself held court.
“Saf?” her twin prompted. “What are ye no’ saying?”
There was no hiding it. “They had another sister. Who married a Sutherland.”
Citrine exploded off the bench in an excited flurry of limbs. “Aye!” she yelled, bouncing energetically and swinging an imaginary sword. “That’s it!” She was grinning when she turned back to Saffy, breathing heavy. “Ye’ve found it! Agata’s clue, the Mackenzie saying, the sister connection…” She threw herself onto the bed, grabbing one of Saffy’s hands. “Ye’ve proven that the Sutherlands have the jewels!”
“Or mayhap just another clue on this chase,” Saffy cautioned.
Her sister scoffed. “Even if ’tis just another of the jewels, ’twould be fine! Having two of the Sinclair jewels back in the keep would be worth it! Da would—”
When she bit down on her words, Saffy squeezed her hand, knowing what she had meant to say.
A clan legend said that with the brooch—the symbol of their power—missing, the Sinclair name was bound to fall. Leadership of the clan could pass to one of the Jewels, but it was rumored that Duncan having only daughters was proof the legend was coming true. There would be no strong sons to take over when Da died…or was too ill to carry on. The sisters suspected that’s why he was so intent on marrying them off, so they’d be safe, but Citrine had never accepted it.
The legend also said that only the strongest and bravest of the Sinclair warriors would be able to restore the jewels and the clan’s future, and Saffy had often privately wondered if that was why Citrine trained so hard. Would her husband be as accepting of her strange skills as the Sinclairs were? Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter, because the jewels would be found and legend irrelevant by the time Citrine married.
With even two of the jewels back home, the legend would be proved wrong. The clan would know their future would be strong—whatever the future did hold—and that might be enough. And hopefully, their father’s health would improve.
“I still think we should tell Da about the agate and the tapestry.”
Citrine’s response was swift. “Nay! I—” She shook her head and pulled her hand from Saffy’s grip. “I donae ken how to say it. This illness of his is too convenient, too coincidental. I want…” She shrugged as she pulled herself into a cross-legged position, mirroring Saffy’s. “I want to be sure before we present him with what we’ve found.”
“Ye think…what? That’s he’s been cursed?” Saffy scoffed.
Citrine shrugged. “That, or poisoned.”
Gasping, Saffy shook her head. “Donae even hint at that! Who would do such a thing?”
Her twin frowned, a determined look coming to her eyes. “I donae ken, but I’m going to find out.”
Citrine couldn’t leave the Sinclair holding, not yet at least. If she left now, Da would see no reason not to send her—and Dougal—to the MacLeods for her own unwanted wedding. And if she did, that would mean she’d be unable to keep a watch on Da’s illness.
And if she couldn’t leave, the clue to the Sutherlands would go unstudied.
All signs pointed to the Sutherlands having a jewel, or at least there being another clue at their holding. Relations between the Sinclairs and Sutherlands had been frosty since Da had been forced to call off the wedding between Pearl and the Devil who led the other clan, so they’d be unable to approach this problem diplomatically.
One of them would have to go there, to find a way to search the keep without giving away their mission. A disguise, mayhap, to ensure the Sutherland never discovered his once-fiancée’s sister under his roof?
And Citrine couldn’t do it, which left…
Saffy groaned and threw herself backward on the bed, hoping she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
“I’ll do it.”
Chapter One
“We’ve had no luck tracking him, milord. The slippery bastard must be moving his camp.”
Merrick Sutherland, one of the most feared men in the Highlands, scowled down at his venison. It was prepared the way he preferred, and the wild onions were worth savoring. But it would’ve tasted better had it been accompanied by good news. Or at least silence.
“I was sure he was hiding in that valley,” he muttered, not wanting the bairns to overhear the conversation. “’Twas the logical place, considering his raids of the last month.”
His second, Gavin, grunted an acknowledgement as he sank to the bench across from Merrick and reached for a flagon. “But ’tis as I said. He might’ve been there, or thereabouts. If he moved before the rain we got two days ago, we’d have no way of kenning.”
It was galling, not being out there with his men, searching for the bastard who’d been making life so difficult for the Sutherland. John Lindsay had always been a thorn in his side, believing he had a claim to Merrick’s title…but he was only a nuisance until last year, when he’d surrounded himself with a band of his cursed, Lowlander kinsmen, and begun burning, reiving, and destroying Sutherland crops. His plan was clearly to draw Merrick out, to battle him directly, and as far as the laird was concerned, he’d oblige.
He’d be happy to kill the man himself, bastard brother or not. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?
“Thomas says it’s no’ likely to rain again,” Gavin offered helpfully. “Mayhap Lindsay’s next raid will happen soon, and we can track him.”
Merrick’s hand, resting beside his trencher, clenched into a fist until his knuckles whitened. Aye, they’d find the bastard. They’d track him down, and Merrick would spill his blood as payment for the pain and destruction the man had wrought. Last summer, he’d been merely a nuisance, but even before the snow had melted this year, John Lindsay had begun his raids again. More than a few Sutherland farmers wer
e homeless now, or hadn’t been able to plant their crops. It was up to Merrick and his warriors to protect their clansmen, but they’d been unable to find the damned Lindsay.
Soon, he vowed.
“What happens if you cannae find him, Father?”
Merrick’s gaze swung to Mary, sitting a few places down from him. “What?” he snapped, his scowl still in place.
His eldest never seemed to mind his dark moods. She shrugged daintily, the movement sending her brown curls swinging. Since her best friend Elana—Gavin’s younger sister, who worked in the kitchens—had gone south to visit family, Merrick noticed his daughter was paying more attention to her hair and clothing choices.
Or mayhap that had nothing to do with Elana…
Mary smiled peacefully. “If ye donae track Lindsay, Da, do yer warriors just have to wait—”
“We’ll find him.” Merrick’s tone brooked no argument.
“Aye, Lady Mary,” young Andrew hastened to add. “If yer father says we’ll do something, we’ll do it. Have some more venison, please.”
The lad had been Merrick’s squire for years, and only now risen to the rank of warrior. At eighteen—a year older than Mary—he was obviously proud to be seated with his laird’s inner circle, but Merrick’s frown deepened when he saw how solicitous the lad was being to Mary. And damn if Mary wasn’t blushing. He vowed to sit Andrew on his other side tomorrow, away from his daughter.
Hell, this is what I’m reduced to planning these days?
God willing, Gavin’s men would soon have a trail, and Merrick would be able to actually do something useful instead of sitting here in the keep, worrying about his daughter’s virtue like an old woman.
I’m no’ ready to be a grandda.
Gavin distracted him by muttering, “She’s right, ye ken. With Lindsay’s raids, we’ll be stretched thin. Now that Mackenzie’s married one of the Sinclair Jewels, we’ll have to contend with both of them, and can ill afford—”
“Is there a reason ye think I donae ken this?” Merrick snapped, his appetite waning by the second. “A reason ye think I need ye to explain it all to me?”
The Sinclairs were a powerful ally, and he’d known Duncan Sinclair for years. Making a marriage alliance with one of the man’s daughters had been common sense, although Merrick had dragged his feet, not wanting to bother with another wife. But then Duncan himself had broken the engagement when his daughter had married a common warrior from his own clan. It had been a bit of a relief, honestly, up until the Mackenzie’s regent had married one of Duncan’s other daughters. Now, he had to contend with united power on either side of his borders, while Lindsay made their lives miserable within his lands.
If Mackenzie chose to attack anytime soon, with the Sutherland warriors already having so much to do, they’d be in trouble. But Merrick would never let his men see he was concerned. He held Gavin’s gaze long enough for the man to lower his chin in submission.
“Aye, milord,” Gavin said quietly and reached for the haunch of meat on his trencher.
Blowing out a breath, Merrick slumped back in his chair and allowed his fist—and the rest of his muscles—to relax. He knew he was defensive because he was frustrated at being unable to find Lindsay. But he’d never been any good at hiding his bad moods.
It was why he was called Devil, after all.
At that moment, a commotion broke out from the end of the table where the rest of the children sat. Merrick blinked, his brooding interrupted.
“Beck!” screeched nine-year-old Adelaide. “How could ye?” The girl stood, a splotch of gravy spreading across her kirtle.
His gaze flicked to the bairn’s nurse, old Nell, who was whispering urgently to six-year-old Beck, the wildest of them all. The lad didn’t look at all repentant. In fact, he was already reaching for another onion, obviously intent on firing another volley at his sister.
But before he could, eight-year-old Eva shot to her feet, a roll in her hand. “Ye have the manners of a pig!” She screeched as she lobbed the bread across the table.
Of course, Beck took that as an opening, and flicked the onion in her direction. Honestly, the lad had remarkable aim, which meant that since he hit Nolan, he’d probably planned to do it. But Nolan was as stoic as Eva was wild, and just grunted as he continued to eat. In fact, the sturdy lad picked up the onion which had bounced off his shoulder and popped it into his mouth.
Eva screeched louder in offense, reaching for a piece of cheese. Little Isobel began to bounce up and down in Nell’s lap, laughing and clapping, while twelve-year-old Maggie scooped up her knife and leapt to her younger brother’s rescue.
In a matter of moments, chaos reigned. Merrick pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this was normal. Did other powerful lairds have to put up with this amount of disorder at their supper tables? Or was it just his luck, with so many bairns?
He waited for Nell to get the lot of them under control, but the old woman had her hands full with three-year-old Isobel. Not only that, but baby Emma had woken and began wailing in her basket, so Nell was trying to quiet the wee thing.
It didn’t help that Merrick’s men had immediately began calling out encouragement, and in some cases, taking bets on which of his unruly offspring would prevail. Most of them had a soft spot for Maggie and Beck, who spent their time watching the men train and mimicking their techniques. But Eva was fierce, and lacked Adelaide and Mary’s control, and Merrick heard more than one of his men refer to her as “Wee Lightening.”
Chaos. Utter chaos.
And despite his earlier mood, Merrick felt a smile tug at his lips as he slouched in his chair, watching his children throw food at one another gleefully.
Any moment now, he’d put an end to this, he vowed. Any moment…
Isobel was trying to climb off Nell’s lap and reach for a chunk of the thick, brown bread, while Maggie used Beck’s trencher as a shield. Of course, this meant their supper had spilled all over the table in front of them, but at least she was protecting the lad as he fired missiles at his older siblings. They made a good team.
Eva was screaming insults, lobbing food back across the table, while Nolan ignored most of them. When he finished his own venison, he reached for his sister’s—maybe there was a reason the lad was so stocky. Bookish Adelaide appeared close to tears as she lectured her siblings at the top of her lungs, and Mary huddled close to Andrew, while the young man gallantly shielded her.
Merrick’s smile slipped away at that sight.
Definitely time to separate those two.
Mayhap Beck felt similarly, because he switched his aim to his eldest sister, flicking onions in her direction in between ducking Eva’s volleys. Andrew was doing a damn good job of batting the missiles out of the air, Gavin was roaring with laughter, and Merrick shook his head in exasperation.
Mackenzie breathing down my neck, Lindsay raiding my lands, and my own children are no better than a lawless band of reivers themselves.
Still, at least it kept the meal from being boring.
Time to put an end to this. He sat forward abruptly, ready to roar his irritation—mayhap a trifle more feigned than real, in order to show the bairns he was serious. And he would’ve, except at that moment, an onion sailed out from behind Beck’s trencher, headed not for Mary or Eva, but Merrick himself.
He hadn’t spent over a decade as the Sutherland laird with poor reflexes. Before the gooey orb could connect with his shoulder, Merrick snatched it out of the air.
Instantly, silence descended. Every one of his unruly offspring, every man in the great hall, immediately ceased their raucous noise and watched him warily. Only baby Emma hadn’t seemed to notice the interruption—her wails continued unabated while Nell watched her laird with an open mouth.
Sure, he had their attention; Merrick held Beck’s gaze and slowly squeezed the onion until he felt it pop and the juices flow between his fingers. It was satisfying, to find a way to release some of his earlier irritation. But not enough
.
“Beck,” he growled.
His son swallowed audibly. “Yes, milord?”
“Come. Here.”
It was almost comical the way the lad scrambled away from the table. Beside him, Maggie sat down heavily, her guilty gaze on him, as if wondering if she would be punished. Eva stood defiantly, her shoulders heaving with exertion, while tears of frustration dried on Adelaide’s cheeks.
Every present clan member watched as Beck shuffled around the table to reach his father. As he passed Mary, the girl leaned away from him, and for the first time, Merrick noticed Andrew had his arm around her back. But he didn’t have time to react before his troublesome son stood before him.
Merrick shifted in his large chair until he was glaring directly at the six-year-old, who met his gaze bravely. The lad’s blond hair was dotted with breadcrumbs from a volley Maggie hadn’t been able to block in time, but he managed to look unrepentant.
And—despite Merrick’s fierce glower, he could admit the truth—damn cute. Had Willie looked like that at six? It was hard to remember. Merrick was certain he’d never been so cherubic, but Robbie probably had. Robbie had always looked so innocent.
The knowledge Beck might one day follow Robbie’s path leant anger to Merrick’s scowl. Without speaking, he reached out and wiped his oniony hand on the lad’s shoulder, smearing the gravy and onion juice across Beck’s shirt, so he matched Adelaide.
And the boy, damn his eyes, lowered himself into a courtier’s flourishing bow. “Thank ye, milord,” he breathed reverently, as if Merrick had knighted him.
Around them, his men began to murmur, and Merrick heard a few chuckles at his son’s impertinence. Even while he himself was battling the urge to smile at the lad’s attitude, he knew he couldn’t become the clan’s laughingstock. He commanded his men with absolute certainty and was respected for it. His children would feel the same, by God.