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

by Caroline Lee

  “Beck,” he growled, “If ye make it to manhood, ye will have to ken respect. Yer commander will demand it, and ye will start now, by showing yer laird and father what is deserved.”

  Apparently his tone got through to the little hellion, because Beck’s expression immediately sobered, and he hunched his shoulders as he dropped his gaze to Merrick’s chin. “Aye, Father,” he whispered.

  “Ye disrespect yer nurse and yer sisters by acting as ye did, and ye disrespect me.”

  Beck swallowed again. “I’m sorry, milord. I only meant to lighten the mood.”

  Merrick allowed the silence to stretch just long enough for Gavin across the table to shift uncomfortably, before he nodded to release the tension. “Apology accepted.” But before the lad could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued, “Ye’ve made a mess, lad.” Merrick nodded at the woven cloth covering the table, now splattered with venison and gravy from Beck’s trencher. “Ye, Maggie, and Eva will have no more meals until ye scrub this cloth and Adelaide’s kirtle. One of the scullery lasses will no doubt show ye what needs to be done.”

  Beck’s brown eyes flashed toward Maggie, who was looking livid at what she no doubt saw as servant’s work. Eva was whispering furiously to Nolan, who was ignoring her. But Beck just nodded slowly.

  “Aye, milord.”

  Merrick liked that the boy accepted his punishment without whining or arguing. He clasped the six-year-old on his shoulder. “Remember this, lad. A real warrior takes what is meted out with grace and determination to do better.”

  Beck nodded, chewing on his lower lip. Under Merrick’s hold and gaze, the lad shifted on his feet. Was he aware that most of the Sutherlands in the room were watching him now? Was he embarrassed? Good. That would go further toward teaching him restraint than anything else, likely.

  For his part, Merrick was pleased he wouldn’t have to exert his control any further. He didn’t want to break this mischievous boy any more than he wanted Mary snuggling up with his former squire. But he would not allow his power to be doubted, not in his own great hall.

  John Lindsay, his own brother, was already pulling this clan apart. Merrick would not allow his control to be questioned, not by a six-year-old, and not by the men watching what was happening.

  He would remain strong. In command. And if that meant having the reputation of the Devil himself, so be it.

  “Well, lad?” he asked quietly. “Is there anything else you need to say to your laird?”

  “Aye,” Beck whispered, his hands twisted in front of him.

  Merrick waited a moment, but the boy didn’t seem inclined to continue. He hated the thought that he might’ve crushed Beck’s spirit, but it had to be done if he wanted his men to know he was strong.

  “Beck?” he prompted, and squeezed the boy’s shoulder just a bit. “What would you say to your laird?”

  That’s when the lad looked up, and his dark eyes met Merrick’s. “I love ye, Da,” he whispered just before he threw himself toward Merrick.

  The man grunted just slightly when the boy slammed into his chest and wrapped his small arms around his middle. Then, accepting the inevitable, Merrick released his breath through his teeth, and tightened his hold on the lad, in something akin to a hug.

  “Aye, lad,” he murmured against the mop of blond curls. “I love ye, too.”

  It was the truth. No matter how much the lad reminded him of Robbie, no matter that he was going to drive Merrick mad with his antics and the way he incited chaos among his siblings, Merrick loved him.

  Him, and every single one of the bairns now staring at them with expressions ranging from irritation to smugness to anticipation.

  Even the Devil could love his children, aye? Although God help him if the word got out.

  He looked across the table and met Gavin’s eyes a moment before the other man lifted his flagon to his lips and looked away. Merrick found himself growling a warning.

  “No’ a word.”

  Gavin’s brows twitched, which told the laird his friend wanted to say something, but wouldn’t. His second had been with him since they’d both been lads, being a few years younger than Merrick. He was lucky to have Gavin’s support, and knew the commander would keep his secret.

  A cry from outside had Gavin’s head snapping up, the same as Merrick’s and half the men in the hall. Even young Andrew straightened away from Mary, already looking toward the main doors. Gently, Merrick set Beck away from him—the lad rushed to his oldest sister’s arms—and slowly stood.

  The doors burst open, and Daniel flung himself into the room, his face red, and his expression excited. “Lindsay, milord! He’s hit the croft at the bend in the river!”

  “How long ago?” Merrick growled, forcing down the burst of satisfaction until he was sure.

  “Just now! Murray’s eldest rushed to report.”

  Slowly, Merrick’s lips curved upward. It wasn’t a nice smile, but his men erupted in cheers anyhow. “We have him, lads,” he called.

  In a flurry of movement, the Sutherland warriors abandoned their meals and rushed for the stables, their laird among them. Merrick glanced back toward the bairns only once, to see them all watching with wide eyes. He nodded to let them know everything would be fine, then met Andrew’s eyes.

  His former squire still stood by the bench beside Mary, obviously torn. Had he been anyone else, Merrick would’ve disciplined him for putting a woman before his duty to his laird. But the lad had only recently joined the ranks of warriors, and while he was used to remaining at Merrick’s side, he knew he wasn’t seasoned.

  So, Merrick pointed a finger at him. “You will guard my family and this keep. If aught happens, if any of them come to harm, you will pay. Understood?”

  The dark-haired lad seemed relieved to have the decision made for him. He clasped his fist to his chest and lowered his head in acceptance. “I will guard them as if they were my own.”

  Probably exactly what he wanted. Merrick resisted the urge to sniff sarcastically. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. “My family will be your charge until I say otherwise.”

  “Without fear!” the lad shouted, and the clan motto was repeated by the few men who hadn’t left the hall already.

  Merrick nodded. “Without fear,” he confirmed, then strode out, having already put Andrew—and the bairns—from his mind. He had a job.

  Brother or not, John Lindsay would be caught. Caught and punished like the dog he was.

  The Sutherland Devil’s blood began to pump in anticipation.

  Chapter Two

  The shoreline of the small loch looked empty, but a fortnight of caution wasn’t easy to overlook. Saffy waited in the shadows at the edge of the forest, scanning the beach and the distant water.

  No one. She was safe.

  Still, her senses were on high alert as she scuttled from the safety of the trees to the water. While her disguise should be sufficient to fool any passersby, it’d be easier to just avoid as many people as possible, as she’d been doing for the last sennight. But her thirst was strong enough to conquer her fear of being seen.

  She kicked off her shoes and crouched in the shallows, not caring her stockings were getting wet. Nay, with the heat and the sweat drying under her linen shirt, she welcomed the way the cold water felt against her skin.

  In fact, before she could scoop up some of the water to drink, she gave up on propriety and just knelt in the water, sighing a bit in relief. Her small sword bumped against her heels, but she shifted it out of the way so she could cup a handful of water.

  It was cold and clear, everything she could’ve hoped for. She drank until she thought her stomach might burst. After surviving on berries and nuts and two stolen loaves, she was ready to do just about anything for a haunch of meat and a cup of ale. She’d even blunder her way through another lecture and practice session with Citrine!

  Thirst quenched, Saffy braced her palms against the rocky bottom and stared down at her reflection in the water. Ripples marred the sur
face, but the sun was bright enough for her to see the mess she’d made of herself. The scrapes and scratches across her forehead and cheeks came from traveling and hiding from sight in brambles, but most were hidden by the chopped locks of hair which half-obscured her vision.

  All of the Sinclair Jewels had the same dark blonde hair, and although Saffy was by far the most scholarly of her sisters, she’d always taken great pride in her hair. It seemed sad that now, not only was it cut as short as a lad’s, but she’d been the one to do it.

  When Munro had left her in Dornach and returned home, certain she was there for a visit and well-guarded, she’d stayed only long enough to change into lad’s clothing Citrine had acquired, and tuck her hair up under a chaperon hood. Then she’d snuck out, and once safe in the woods, grasped her hair in one fist, her knife in the other, closed her eyes, and done a poor job of chopping it all off.

  Still, it had felt…liberating somehow, to be dressed as a lad and traveling alone. Is this how Citrine felt all the time? She didn’t wear a disguise, of course, but she was always so intent on standing on her own feet and learning to protect herself. Her sister should be the one on this adventure, but Saffy knew her twin was needed at home, to watch over Da. It was scary to realize Citrine would have no way of contacting her, and Saffy wouldn’t be able to write home until this adventure was complete. They’d agreed that any attempt her twin made to contact the Sutherlands would only raise suspicion, so when they’d hugged goodbye that last time, it had felt frighteningly final.

  Citrine had been the one to fetch this disguise and give Saffy the small sword which now hung on her belt. She almost wished her sister could see their handiwork now.

  Saffy stared down at her reflection. Besides the wet stockings, she wore a set of braies, which were more comfortable than she’d suspected, and a lad’s belted surcoat over a linen shirt. It wasn’t a common costume here in the Highlands, where most of the Sinclair menfolk wore their kilts in the summer heat, but she hadn’t questioned Citrine’s choices. The surcoat was sleeveless, so not too warm, and hid her breasts. Of course, she’d tied them down the way her twin had shown her, and they’d both giggled at the thought that the precaution they used while training could be useful as a disguise.

  And although Saffy had never considered herself vain, as she stared at her reflection, she had to admit it was a little disconcerting how easy it was for her to turn into a lad.

  She sighed and pushed onto to her feet once more, glad she felt better. There was still several hours of daylight left, and she guessed she’d be close to the Sutherland stronghold soon.

  Over the last sennight, she’d discovered strength she hadn’t known she possessed. Her feet ached and her legs were tired, but she would push on. It was the lack of sleep—curled up on the hard ground, starting at every noise, waiting for dawn—which was wearing her down. If she didn’t reach the Sutherland keep soon, didn’t find a place to rest, she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to travel like this.

  As she walked, she stripped berries from bushes and shoved tubers in her pouch for later. Who would’ve thought that treatises on the natural bounties of the land would come in handy this way? Definitely not Saffy, curled up safely in the window seat of Da’s solar all those years ago. That was also where she’d studied and memorized the maps which she now followed unerringly, and where she’d heard the stories of the Sutherland Devil.

  The laird had been friends with Da when they were both younger. A decade ago, the man had hanged a lad for thieving. Da had cut him down at the last moment, and Gregor, half-dead and grateful, had pledged himself to the Sinclairs, and become the Sinclair Hound. Although few people knew the whole story, Pearl had told her sisters after her wedding to Gregor.

  It was just one more example of Merrick Sutherland’s fierceness.

  Despite the sun beating down overhead, Saffy shivered at the thought of having to meet the man on his own land. Of course, God willing, she’d never have to set eyes on him. Her plan, carefully constructed with Citrine, was to infiltrate the Sutherland keep as a serving lad. Or mayhap find work in the stable—although she had no experience with horses, at least she’d be further away from the laird and possible detection. She’d prefer to find work with the clan’s priest or seneschal, anywhere she could serve as a scribe…but such a position would mean a greater likelihood of meeting the laird, which was not her goal.

  Back home, Citrine had vowed to do her best to cover for her absence. She’d been the one to talk Munro—one of Da’s warriors—into accompanying Saffy as far as the abbey Dornach. Hopefully, Da and Dougal would think Saffy was safely visiting the abbey, studying the scrolls and holy writs in the library there, which had happened twice before.

  Which meant she had a few weeks, at most, before someone would get suspicious about her lack of contact. In that time, she needed to search the Sutherland keep, find whatever evidence she could of the missing Sinclair jewels, and make her way back home.

  All without allowing the Sutherland Devil to know of her mission.

  If one—or all—of the missing stones were on Sutherland land, as the sisters suspected, then would the laird be considered culpable? Would that anger him, to know he’d harbored stolen jewels for so long? Or was he part of the plot against the Sinclairs, intent on keeping his old friend weak, knowing Duncan Sinclair’s line would fail?

  Nay, better to hide her intent from the Sutherlands. Better to hide herself from the laird.

  As the sun sank lower in the west, Saffy began to think about making camp. Although, with the way her nights had been going, it’d be better to push herself as far as possible, then make a small fire once the dark truly set in. The further she went today, the closer she’d be to her goal.

  But God forgive her, she was tired. Hours and hours and hours of fear and caution and tenseness had brought her to this point. All of her limbs felt heavier, and she caught herself stumbling once or twice.

  Mayhap she should halt her travels. If she was this tired, mayhap she’d finally sleep well?

  She pushed out of the woods, heading towards the distant sparkle of a loch below her. The path was easy, and she knew she wasn’t more than a few hours walk from her destination now. She could drink, make camp, sleep…then tomorrow, mayhap well-rested, she could set her mind toward finding a way into the good graces of whoever was in charge of hiring at the Sutherland keep.

  It wasn’t until the third time she stumbled over the rocks in the path that she realized how dull her mind really was. She was looking, but not seeing. She’d pushed out of the cover of the forest without even searching the landscape for danger.

  Which is why, when she finally heard the hoofbeats, there was no place to hide. Saffy stood, her mind dazed from exhaustion, as the men on horseback surrounded her. Dimly, she reached for her sword, but her hands fumbled on the simple steps required to remove it from the scabbard.

  “I’ll cut ye down where ye stand, brigand!”

  The man who yelled had leveled a heavy sword at her as his horse pranced in place. Saffy squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. He was little more than a lad, probably only a few years younger than herself. And he wore the Sutherland plaid. In fact, all the men wore it.

  “I—I am no brigand.” Her voice was rough, scratchy with exhaustion and fear, although part of her mind was pleased it disguised her sex even further.

  With the sword, the lad gestured to her clothing. “Ye’re a Lindsay, are ye no’?”

  A Lindsay? They were a Lowland clan, and her clothing marked her as an outsider. It would make sense to claim to be from a clan other than the Sinclairs…but if the Lindsays were met with this kind of welcome, mayhap not.

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  The lad laughed, his sword never wavering, even as his horse stepped impatiently. “Ye think me a clot-heid? John Lindsay and his men have been raiding for months, and were just sighted today. Obviously, they’ve led our laird on a chase away from the keep, whil
e sending ye to infiltrate our home!”

  Enraged now, the lad slid from his horse and stalked toward her. Dimly, she noted he had fine features, russet hair in the same cropped style she now wore. But it was hard to be appreciative when he swung the sword so that it stopped above her shoulder, entirely too near her neck.

  When she flinched away, all she could manage in her current exhausted state, his lips curved cruelly. “What was your plan, lad? Ye think ye could get close to us, because ye’re so young?” He spat in disgust, then shook his head. “My laird left me in charge of guarding his family, and I’ll die before I allow you near them.”

  She shook her head once more, although the movement was stilted, with the sword so close. “I’m no’ a brigand,” she managed again.

  He leaned closer. “As far as I’m concerned, all Lindsays are brigands, for daring to support that bastard.”

  What bast—Oh, he must mean John Lindsay. Her normally quick mind was sluggish, trying to understand what he meant. When the sword twitched once more, she gave up trying to understand and focused on the very real chance she was about to be killed by a lad younger than her.

  From behind her, an elderly voice asked, “What will ye do, Andrew?”

  Andrew tensed, bringing the edge of the sword against her throat. She felt a sting, but dared not flinch, for fear of sending the blade deeper. Her eyes widened with fear as she felt blood trickle down her neck. Part of her noted this group of men must’ve been those left behind to guard the keep—the very old and a lad like Andrew—but it didn’t seem to matter right now.

  Should she reveal her identity? Would it help her or hurt her in this instance?

  Well, it would ruin everything, but it was—as Citrine would say—a hell of a lot better than dying. Especially being killed for being a Lindsay brigand.

  She’d opened her mouth to blurt out her secret, when suddenly, Andrew exhaled and stepped back.

  He was still glaring at her when he said, “The Sutherland would have my head if I didn’t allow him to question the lad. He’s young, but if he was sent to infiltrate our home, sent to cause God kens what kind of havoc, then he must ken something of that bastard’s plans.”