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

Home > Romance > The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle > Page 33
The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle Page 33

by Caroline Lee


  “Cannae or willnae?”

  He was no dullard, that was for certain. Saffy felt her palms begin to sweat, and unconsciously, swiped them down the woolen blanket.

  “I…I only wanted someplace to stay. A job.”

  He nodded briskly. “Aye, and ye’ll have one, here where I can learn yer secrets, Saf. Where are ye from?”

  She shook her head, knowing she couldn’t answer him. Things were getting hazy again. Dear God, this man—this gorgeous man—had been contracted to marry her sister Pearl! What would he do if he discovered her identity?

  He wasn’t discouraged, though. “Ye spent three days in my dungeon without food or water. I was the one who dragged ye out of there and saved yer life. Ye owe me.”

  “Nay,” she whispered, alarmed at how hard it was to think. She was still so very tired.

  “Aye, and now I own ye.”

  Own…

  He’s the Devil, remember?

  She shook her head.

  Suddenly, he loomed over her, pulling the tray from the bed and depositing it on the nearby table. She stared up at him mutely.

  “What did ye do during those three days, Saf?” he asked softer.

  Do?

  “To keep yer mind sharp, lad. What did ye do to keep from going mad?”

  It was a simple enough question, and at that moment, she couldn’t think of a lie to tell him. Couldn’t think of a reason to lie to him. “I corrected the graffiti,” she said simply.

  His teeth flashed as he grinned lightning-quick, his serious expression settling once more onto his full lips. “As I recall, my grandfather imprisoned his brother-in-law for a while down there, waiting for permission to marry his sister. My great uncle kenned quite the collection of curses.”

  Thinking of the things carved into the stone far below, Saf nodded silently.

  Quick as a flash, the Sutherland darted forward and lifted her right hand from where it rested on the coverlet. “A knowledge of Latin would also explain this,” he said as he flipped her hand over, his fingertips brushing against the callus on the outside of her forefinger.

  And for the first time ever, her mind was struck completely and utterly blank.

  Warmth from his touch spread up her hand and arm, filling her chest and making her gape at him. Dear God in Heaven, but his touch felt divine.

  Devil, he may be, but he made her shiver like a saint.

  And from the way his smile flashed again, just briefly, he knew it.

  Ye’re a lad!

  Her mind finally started working again, and she yanked her hand from his with a gasp. She was supposed to be Saf, a lad looking for work. If she sat here and mooned over this gorgeous devil, shivering at his touch, and longing for more, her masquerade would be uncovered in a moment.

  Trying to sound like one of her father’s younger warriors, she made her voice gruff. “I have to…” She shook her head and shifted in the bed. “I need privacy.”

  Scooting to the other side of the bed, she swung her legs off, and braced herself against the wave of lightheadedness. She was still so weak, so tired. At least her thirst had been quenched, but that meant…

  When she pushed herself upright, leaning on the bedpost for support, she was surprised to still see the Devil across the room, staring at her with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  Oh. A lad wouldn’t demand privacy, would he?

  But she could no more relieve herself in front of him than she could reveal her identity. The two things were connected, in fact.

  As much as she hated to push the fact, nature couldn’t be denied. “Milord?”

  Blandly, he raised one brow in challenge. “Aye, lad?”

  “I need privacy,” she stated again, feeling like a clot-head.

  He jerked his chin toward a screen in the corner. “By all means.”

  “Ye…ye plan to stay?”

  “This is my chamber, Saf. Ye cannae kick me out.”

  Oh, God.

  The journey to the other side of the room saw her stumbling once or twice, but he didn’t move to help her, thank the saints. By the time she fumbled her way out of her braies and squatted over the pot, she was sure her cheeks were apple-red.

  And then he began to whistle to cover the echoing sound of water hitting clay, and she closed her eyes in mortification.

  Still, she managed to right herself and stumble from behind the screen once more. He stood in the same spot, looking far too comfortable. She eyed the bed, her entire body feeling longing to lie down once more. But instead, she thrust her chin out.

  She couldn’t look at him directly. “Now what?”

  “Milord,” he supplied helpfully.

  Confused, her gaze darted to his, then down once more. “What?”

  “Ye will call me milord. Or laird. Or Laird Sutherland.”

  Her nod of acknowledgement was more of a jerk, but she couldn’t deny his censure. He might be the devil, but he was a laird. “My laird,” she repeated softly, still staring at the brooch which held his plaid in place.

  A brooch much like the missing Sinclair jewels.

  “I like that,” he said softly, then immediately cleared his throat. “Now what?” he prompted, reminding her of her earlier question.

  She shrugged. “I wondered what other humiliations ye had planned for me.”

  And God love him, but he chuckled. It was over in a moment, but she was so surprised, she met his eyes once more.

  “Plenty, wee Saf. I’m the Sutherland Devil, have ye no’ heard?”

  Entranced by the combination of humor and hardness in his eyes, Saffy felt herself nod.

  “Despite my reputation, I donae believe in torture. But that willnae stop me from pressing ye, because I will learn yer secrets, Saf.”

  He pushed away from the window and began to stalk toward her. Saffy swallowed, knowing she had nowhere to run, and couldn’t manage it, even if there was some place safe.

  And a tiny part of her mind was yelling Ye’re safe with him!

  Stupid thought.

  “I—I have nae secrets,” she managed to choke out.

  He halted right in front of her, close enough to touch. It felt as if he was touching her, the way she was completely aware of his body, his warmth. She held her breath as she tilted her head back and forced herself to meet his eyes.

  “I think ye do, Saf,” he whispered, his stare intense. “And I’ll learn them.”

  Her mouth worked, but she could think of no denial. Finally, she shook her head slightly.

  And he nodded in return.

  “Ye’re mine now, wee Saf. Ye wanted a job? I have one for ye, a coveted position.”

  The way he was looking at her…Saffy swallowed and reminded herself he thought she was a lad.

  “Aye?” she croaked.

  “Aye, milord,” he prompted her.

  Arrogant man. “Aye…Devil?”

  He grinned again, and while one part of her was relieved he hadn’t punished her for sass, another part wished his smile didn’t make him look quite so…approachable.

  ’Tis hard to call him a devil when he smiles like that.

  “I’m going to make ye my squire.” Before she could process what that meant, he placed one palm against the wall by her head and leaned forward. “Ye’ll tend to my needs, ye’ll attend me in practice and at meals, and ye’ll devote yer every waking moment to me.”

  Dear God in Heaven.

  Saffy was sure the exhaustion was overtaking her. Surely that explained why her limbs felt so weak, why her heart was pounding so fast, as she stared at the lips which had just uttered those impossible words.

  Stay with him? Attend him? She managed a little head shake.

  Those arrogant, devilish lips curved upward just slightly. “Oh, aye, wee Saf,” he growled. “And ye’ll sleep here in this chamber. With me.”

  Saffy’s knees gave out.

  And before she could hit the ground, he was there, scooping her up. Before she could blink, she was cradled in his a
rms, tucked safely against his chest.

  It was the oddest sort of horror and anticipation, wrapped up in warmth. Did he intend for her to share his bed now? As intrigued as she was by the possibility, she couldn’t afford to assuage her curiosity about the Sutherland Devil.

  Besides, he thinks ye a lad.

  She began to kick. “Put me down,” she demanded, as fiercely as she could manage, trying to twist out of his grip.

  He merely held her tighter and chuckled. She stilled when she felt his laughter where her shoulder was pressed against his chest.

  And then he was placing her on the bed once more, pulling the cover up around her. “I’ll give ye one more night here alone, Saf. Starting tomorrow, I’m taking my bed back, and ye can have the pallet.” He stepped back and stared down at her thoughtfully. “And I willnae be here when ye wake, ye have my word. There’s always water in that ewer”—he jerked his chin toward the far table—“if ye need to wash. And since ye’ll be attending me, ye will wash.”

  Laying as stiff as a corpse, Saffy could do no more than gape at him. He hadn’t meant for her to share the bed with him? He was allowing her more rest? He wanted her to be clean?

  Relief shot through her so fast, she thought she might faint again. “Aye,” she whispered.

  He looked as if he might say more, but then snapped his mouth shut and spun toward the door. She heard him bellowing orders as soon as he was in the hall, and didn’t miss the sound of something heavy being pushed in front of the door.

  To prevent her escape?

  She stared at the ceiling and exhaled heavily. She had no need to escape. While meeting the Sutherland laird had been the very last thing she’d wanted to do—ever—she’d done it and was still alive. And he’d given her an excuse to stay here in the keep! Being by his side all the time meant she wouldn’t have time to search for her family’s jewels, but surely, she’d be able to sneak away a bit? And being with him meant she’d hear everything he heard. She might be able to glean information which would help in her search.

  Her eyelids felt heavy. Escape? She smirked as she rolled over on the comfortable pillows. She was well-fed and exhausted, and looking forward to the chance to be clean again. There was no way she’d try to escape.

  Merrick Sutherland thought she was a lad. It was odd to think of the Sutherland Devil having a first name, but if she really was going to attend to him, she’d have to stop calling him devil. While he’d laughed the first time, he might not the next. From the stories she’d heard, he’d respond with a swift blow, especially since he believed her a lad.

  And he’d called her Saf, so her secret was still safe.

  I will learn yer secrets.

  When he’d said that, it had sounded more like a promise than a threat.

  She closed her eyes, her mind too numb to work through the logical outcomes of this situation. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d be rested and fed and clean and then she could figure out how she would find the next clue to the jewels’ whereabouts.

  Merrick.

  He’s called her his, which should’ve terrified her. But as sleep claimed her, Saffy knew one thing: she’d felt safe in his arms.

  Chapter Five

  She healed well. After that first encounter in his chamber, watching her sleeping so peacefully in his bed, Merrick had kept his distance. Not because he was being kind—he’d told her she’d be attending him every moment, after all—but because of his reaction to her.

  She was filthy. She was dressed as a lad. He had no idea what she looked like under those ridiculous clothes.

  But when he’d touched her, it’d felt…right.

  Holding her, even just holding her hand, had made his skin itch and his muscles tense. A tightness deep in his belly reminded him of the long-ago way Anna had made me him feel.

  He’d been so young then, barely twenty-two when he’d planted Mary in her belly. And Anna had been a vivacious and lusty wench, who met his passions head-on. It’d been no wonder he’d fallen hard for her, no wonder he still remembered those feelings.

  But Saf—or whatever her name was—couldn’t be more different than Anna. She was skinny where Anna had curves, pale where his leman had been dark…

  And she had the most incredible eyes. Large and bright blue, the color of sapphires. They’d flashed open that afternoon in his chamber, and he’d been afraid he’d fall into them.

  She’d met his warnings with sass, and in an effort to intimidate her, he’d gotten too close.

  When he’d threatened to have her sleep with him, he saw the understanding in her eyes. She’d thought he’d meant to bed her, and God help him, but that’s exactly what he’d meant. Of course, it’d been easy to claim he wanted her only to sleep on a pallet beside him, and he hadn’t missed the flash of something in her expression then. Relief? Disappointment?

  All he knew was that placing her back in that bed—alone—had required remarkable willpower.

  She’s a lad. Remember that.

  He’d gone out to the training fields and beat Gavin, which made him feel a bit better. Of course, the next day, Gavin gave as good as he’d gotten, and they were both sporting new bruises.

  Which was good, because lying there in his dark chamber that night, listening to her breathe softly on her pallet beside the bed, Merrick was glad for any distraction.

  Four days after his return from his futile chase of his half-brother, Saf finally was well enough to venture from his chamber. She still wore that surcoat and breeches, but everything—including her—had been washed. Someone had given her a thong to tie her hair back, and freshly scrubbed, she looked much healthier.

  That first evening at dinner in the great hall, he sat back in his chair and watched her bustle around the high table, rushing from one flagon to the next to refill ale, and he had to admit he was impressed. When she wasn’t needed, she stepped down from the dais and just observed.

  Those blue eyes flicked over all the children, lingering, flashing back and forth between him and Beck, who was one of the bairns who looked nothing like Merrick. He imagined he could hear her brain working.

  What kind of woman corrected graffiti in a dungeon?

  Unbidden, a smile flashed across his lips, and when she saw it, she flushed and looked away.

  “Ye’re in a good mood tonight, milord.”

  For the loyalty he’d shown in protecting the keep and Merrick’s family, Andrew had been granted the honor of sitting at the high table once more. Merrick had been certain to place him opposite Mary this time—And why the hell do I have to think about this kind of thing?—but his former squire seemed eager to please.

  Merrick lifted his flagon in acknowledgment. “Just thinking about tomorrow’s training.”

  The young man nodded. “I’m looking forward to sparring with ye. And in a few days, ye’ll be joining me to teach the lads, aye?”

  Andrew was one of the youngest Sutherland warriors, although skilled. Attending Merrick for all the years he had, the young man had proven to be a fast learner, and now could hold his own against many of the older men. But Merrick had also put him in charge of training the lads who were not yet warriors, and was eager to see how they’d progressed.

  He nodded and eyed Andrew’s empty flagon. “Aye. And ye have need of more ale. Saf!” he bellowed.

  When she came hurrying over, the pitcher in her hands, she was glaring at him. “Ye donae have to shout. I was right there.”

  Andrew gasped in shock at her cheekiness, and Merrick bit down on his smile. Not only could he not afford her to think he was easy to charm, he didn’t want his men to know how amusing he found her.

  He kept his voice mild when he reminded her, “Milord.”

  She scowled as she topped off Andrew’s flagon. “Aye, milord. Anything else, milord?” Taking a small step back, she gave a flourishing curtsey.

  Mayhap it was an accident. Mayhap it was part of her sarcasm. Had she bowed, it would’ve been obvious, but a lad curtseying had more than a few men
erupting in laughter—Gavin the loudest.

  Merrick had to lift his own flagon and take a long draught to hide his smile.

  After she’d stepped back, Andrew seemed to regain his voice. “Laird! Allow me to train him. I’ll beat some respect into that thick skull of his! He cannae speak to ye—”

  “Aye, in good time,” Merrick said with a casual wave. “We’ll start the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m learning plenty about our little interloper.”

  His former squire’s eyes flashed, and he leaned forward. Gavin did the same, but he didn’t look convinced.

  “Have ye learned Lindsay’s plans?” Andrew asked. “Has he told ye where the bastard will strike next?”

  Merrick shook his head. Nay, no matter how many times he’d asked Saf—no matter which combination of questions or how off-guard he caught her—she still denied knowing anything about John Lindsay.

  But he was learning all sorts of other things about her.

  Like the fact she muttered in her sleep, women’s names and talking about jewels. The fact her eyes flashed when she was irritated with him. The fact she not only could read, but enjoyed the trade agreements and treatises strewn over the desk in his solar. The fact she liked things tidy, and he often returned to his chamber and solar to find everything arranged much neater than Andrew had ever kept it.

  Aye, he was learning plenty about her, but nothing about what he needed to know.

  Andrew sat back with a scowl. “We need some way to break him,” he said, slamming his fist into his opposite palm. “He must tell us what he kens! Lindsay cannae—”

  “I said I’ll take care of Saf,” Merrick growled in warning, “and I meant it. Ye’ll leave him to me.”

  Andrew reluctantly nodded, and when Merrick glanced at Gavin, his second was staring at Saf with a thoughtful frown.

  Merrick stifled his sigh, and cast about for some change in topic. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of either of these two—or any of his men—paying special attention to Saf…it irritated him.

  “Is Elana enjoying her time with yer cousins?”

  As soon as he’d blurted the question, Merrick regretted the distraction.

 

‹ Prev