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

by Caroline Lee

  I’m pondering seating arrangements and his sister’s social life?

  What in damnation was going on with his mind?

  And Gavin seemed equally uncomfortable about the topic. “She’s fine,” he said, reaching for his ale. “I assume. I…havenae heard much from her.”

  He didn’t want to speak of his sister, and that was fine by Merrick. It had been a poor attempt at diversion anyhow. He nodded and turned to whatever Andrew was saying to the warrior on his right, and vowed to pay attention to clan matters.

  Not matters pertaining to a certain intriguing young squire of his…

  The next morning, she followed him to the training grounds. Per his instructions, Saf woke each morning before him and performed her own ablutions, then was ready to assist him. Of course, he needed no help, but he’d started to enjoy lying in his bed with his eyes cracked, watching her bustle around the room to put away her pallet and hurriedly wash herself.

  It’d been hard not to laugh at her reaction the first time she’d realized he slept nude. She’d all-but-tossed him his kilt, her cheeks a bright red.

  They started their morning with her serving him porridge and following him on his duties. This morning it was training with his warriors.

  She found a shaded spot and watched carefully. Although he needed to put her from his mind as he sparred, it was hard to ignore the fact she was staring at him. But rather than distract him, the knowledge she was watching made him work harder, pour more of his energy into the attacks and blocks, and even call out instructions as he saw fit.

  Ye’ve still got life, auld man.

  After, she trailed them all to the loch, but he noticed that as the warriors stripped and washed in the cold waters, she turned her shoulder and kept her attention firmly focused on the distant keep.

  “He’s no’ one of Lindsay’s men.”

  Gavin’s casual pronouncement drew Merrick’s attention. They were apart from the other men, up to their waists in the water.

  “What makes ye say that?”

  His second shrugged, frowning at Saf. “I cannae explain it. But…he watches everything ye do. Everything we do. I donae think he’s used to being around so many men at one time.”

  Merrick straightened and nodded thoughtfully. “And ye think if he were one of Lindsay’s men—a spy—he’d be more familiar with life in a band?”

  “Aye. And he’s nae crofter or servant, that much is obvious. So, who is he?”

  Merrick grunted and scooped up another handful of water to slosh over his shoulder. “’Tis the question. I havenae decided yet, but I tend to agree with ye.”

  Until the words had left his mouth, Merrick hadn’t realized that was his feeling. He didn’t think Saf was one of his bastard brother’s spies? Why not? Because he knew she was a female? Did he not think females capable of treachery?

  Gavin had ducked under, and came up, shaking off his shaggy mane. “Ye havenae noticed him poking around the keep asking questions?”

  “Nay, but he’s only been well enough to be out of my chambers a few days.”

  “Keep an eye on him, Laird.”

  Merrick didn’t need to be told twice.

  He did keep an eye on Saf over the next few days, and not just because she was with him all the time. Andrew had never slept at the foot of his bed, like some sort of loyal hound. While Merrick had been the one to make the demand, wanting to ensure she wasn’t sneaking off, he was coming to realize it meant she’d always be guarding her actions. It would’ve been smart to allow her more freedom and set a watcher on her.

  But he’d grown used to having her in his room, in his life, and found himself making excuses to keep her close.

  Aye, he watched her.

  Watched her grow friendly with a few of his younger children. Watched her avoid Mary as much as possible—why? Was she afraid his oldest daughter would see through her disguise? He watched her charm his seneschal with her quick mind for numbers, and woo Corra into making Merrick’s favorite venison dish again, after he’d mentioned his fondness for it.

  She was taking her duties as his squire seriously, which was disconcerting.

  If she’d been a lad, he would’ve guessed either she was a brilliant player, to appear so serious about her new position, or she was genuinely honored to become his squire.

  But as a female, her reasons became much more tangled.

  He was still mulling it over when she followed him to Andrew’s training session a few days later. Andrew’s lads, some of them still needed at home most days, had eagerly gathered to watch his demonstrations.

  To their hungry stares, he spoke of how to counter strength and experience, and how to fight a much larger opponent. He taught them a few moves, then allowed a lucky few to practice on him.

  “Should we give yer new squire a chance, laird?” Andrew called out.

  Merrick could read his intent clearly. By giving Saf a sword and allowing her to attack, they might know if she really was a spy. But she was a lass! The thought made him frown, but he jerked his chin in agreement.

  “Saf, to me.”

  She dragged her feet in attending him, and unlike other days, didn’t wear a smirk. In fact, there was worry in her eyes.

  He held out the small sword the lads used. “Have ye held one of these afore?”

  “Aye,” she said quietly, reaching for it.

  To his surprise, she settled into the correct position, but didn’t seem comfortable.

  Without lifting his weapon, he beckoned her. “Ye were paying attention, aye? Show me what ye learned.”

  Her first attack was slow and clumsy, but she’d remembered his instructions, and hit him in the right places with the flat of her blade.

  He exchanged glances with Andrew, who was looking begrudgingly impressed, then nodded once in approval. “Again,” he commanded.

  By her third try, she was flowing properly. He incorporated some of the other moves he’d taught the lads, and she met him blow for blow. She was weaker, obviously, and not nearly as comfortable with a blade as he was, but she’d obviously had some experience.

  Interesting.

  “Now, lad,” he said, not even breathing heavily, “what would happen if I did this?”

  On her next attack, he twisted out of the way. She followed, but was disconcerted by the shift. That little fact made it easy for him to thrust out a hip, knock her off balance, and trip her.

  She rolled, of course, but he was tall enough it didn’t matter. In two steps, he was able to go down to one knee beside her, his other booted foot planted by her shoulder, and his sword at her throat.

  He’d done it for demonstration only. Not to get her at his mercy.

  Oh, of course.

  She should’ve been terrified. As far as she knew, he thought her a dangerous spy, and now she was lying beneath him, a blade to her throat. But her wide blue eyes were focused on his, and she seemed almost relaxed as she breathed carefully.

  And her expression said she was merely curious what he’d do next.

  Damn her and her inquisitive mind!

  In an effort to unbalance her, he leaned forward until his mouth was close to her ear. “We could always grapple, next.”

  She blushed. An honest-to-God blush, but she didn’t release his gaze as she quipped in return, “If that’s what ye want, Grandda.”

  Ah. There’s the minx.

  She was blushing at the thought of rolling around, learning the art of the grapple. He was in control here.

  So why was he getting hard beneath his kilt?

  “Two-score, lad.”

  She blinked in confusion. “What?”

  Pleased to have unbalanced her—finally—Merrick sheathed his sword and raised his voice so the other lads could hear. “I’m no’ even two-score years.” Winking lewdly, he did his best to lend credence to the rumors surrounding him, and discomfit her further, by continuing. “Aye, ’tis possible I’m a grandda, although I havenae heard the news. But wee Emma is but six month
s, so I can still make a lass moan in pleasure.”

  When Saf squeezed her eyes shut on a “Dear Lord,” Merrick almost burst out laughing. It was satisfying to know he could meet her teasing head-on like that, and embarrass her in return.

  Still, that’s not why they were there.

  He turned his attention to the other lads. “Ye see this position?” He was kneeling over Saf. “The enemy nae longer holds a sword to Saf’s throat, aye? What could sh—he do to gain victory?”

  Most of the pupils were silent, but one enthusiastic lad called out, “Knee ye in the bollocks, Laird!”

  “Aye, good.” He nodded, and spoke to Saf. “Yer limbs arenae tied. With the immediate threat removed, do what ye must to get free.”

  Eyes wide as she listened—he liked that she learned so quickly—she nodded slowly. “And…”

  While he’d been distracted, she’d removed the dirk from her belt, and raised it to show him. He found himself smiling—him! Smiling during training!—at the adorable combination of fierceness and timidity.

  “Good.” He took her wrist to guide her hand, but spoke to all of his pupils. “In this case, there’s nae need to even reveal yer hand. There’s a vein here that will cause yer opponent to bleed out in minutes.” He guided her hand—the dirk still gripped tightly in it—to his inner thigh, beneath his kilt.

  He promised himself it was merely training, and he’d do the same for any of the other lads. But would they blush this way?

  She wasn’t breathing.

  When she twitched away from his hold, he decided to take pity on her, and guided her hand to his hip. “A gut wound from a dagger willnae kill him quickly, but here”—he placed the dirk near his armpit—“will. And of course, the throat is the best option, if ye can reach it.”

  “Throat, armpit, bollocks.” Her voice was a little hoarse. “Ye’re certainly providing an education, Devil.”

  Pressing his lips together to hold back his snort, Merrick surged to his feet, and pulled her up with him. Her hand had been under his kilt, even if it had been for training, and even if she had been holding a dirk.

  But his cock hadn’t cared about that.

  What would it feel like to have her hand under there again? Holding him, stroking him?

  He muttered a curse and pushed himself away from her, determined to teach these lads something useful today.

  And did his best to forget the feel of her skin under his fingers.

  But that night, long after the training session was over, long after he’d bid his family goodnight and retired to his chambers, long after she’d curled up on her pallet and her breathing evened out, he found himself staring at the ceiling, thinking of her blush.

  She’d kenned what I meant when I spoke of grappling. ’Twas why she’d called him “grandda”.

  Was it possible she felt this…this whatever it was? This tug between them? Merrick stacked one forearm behind his head and let out a breath.

  Anna had been the last woman to arouse him this way. He was not like his father and uncles; despite his two failed marriages, Anna still held his heart.

  Didn’t she?

  So many years had passed since her death, he’d gotten used to life without her. Without any woman. Elizabeth and Katharine hadn’t been real companions. These days, it was only Mary’s smile and his empty bed which reminded him of the woman he’d once loved.

  He hadn’t felt that craving in a long while.

  But since holding Saf in his arms…

  She was cheeky and bright and had a sense of humor he liked. Had she been a lad, he would’ve made her his squire just to keep her around and lighten his mood.

  But he couldn’t forget the feel of those breasts under his touch, or the slenderness of her waist. What would she look like without that disguise? Would she be as pretty as he suspected? Would her body be as pale as the rest of her, all womanly curves? Would her breasts ache after being bound for so long, and be eager for his touch?

  How would she taste?

  With a groan, Merrick reached under the wool covers and grasped his already-thick cock. A few tugs, and he was as hard as he’d been earlier, kneeling above her.

  He imagined her climbing on top of him in bed, of riding him with her hair falling wildly around her shoulders. He imagined her meeting him thrust for thrust.

  And despite the fact she still called him devil, he imagined her liking being bedded by him.

  He closed his eyes as he pumped, remembering the look in her eyes when he’d suggested she sleep with him, and knew desire when he’d seen it. He braced his heels, tenting the coverlet, and tried to control his breathing.

  Apparently, he wasn’t successful.

  As his bollocks tightened, he knew he was moments from spilling against his belly, he heard her shift, then roll over.

  “Milord?”

  He froze, panting, wondering what noise he’d made.

  “Laird Sutherland?” she asked again in that sleepy voice.

  “Aye, Saf?” he managed to grind out.

  A pause. Then, sleepily, “Do ye have need of me?”

  Do ye have need of me?

  Her question pounded a refrain in his mind.

  Aye! Aye, in a hundred different ways!

  Did she know what he was doing? What he was thinking about? Was she welcoming him to invite her to participate? Or did she mean it more innocently? Mayhap she thought he was thirsty or something?

  As much as he wanted to command her to climb off her pallet and join him in this bed, as much as he wanted to tell her to take care of him, he knew he couldn’t.

  Bedding her was a complication he couldn’t afford. He still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t a spy, and he wouldn’t be able to think objectively if his attention was on her tits.

  Besides, he didn’t need any more bairns.

  “Nay,” he managed to choke out. “Go to sleep.”

  “Aye, Devil,” she murmured.

  He lay there, softening cock in hand, and listened to her breathing slowly even out once more. And he cursed himself.

  It was a long night.

  Chapter Six

  Attending the Sutherland Devil wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

  Saffy had been surprised by that realization. She’d expected to be treated like a servant, and was prepared to hate the man. But for every command he gave, every request he made, he also took the time to teach her something, as if she were a lad genuinely interested in learning to become a warrior.

  And after the first few days, he began asking her opinion on things—particularly when they worked with his seneschal in the solar. That had made her more pleased than she’d expected.

  Aye, she hadn’t expected to enjoy being with him…but she was learning more things than she ever guessed about running a powerful clan, and to a woman whose mind was constantly whirling, it was a gratifying experience.

  It was almost worth not having a moment to herself to look for the jewels!

  Still, after more than a sennight after she’d arrived, when he dismissed her for the morning while he went to train with his men, she didn’t miss the opportunity to poke around the keep.

  So far, her casual investigations hadn’t been successful. Of course, she was befriending many Sutherlands, but it wasn’t as if she could sidle up to them and say, “Have ye seen any evidence of hidden Sinclair jewels about?”

  In fact, there wasn’t anything she could say which wouldn’t be suspicious. So, she knew she was on her own and used the opportunity to the best of her ability.

  Whereas Citrine was a woman of action, Saffy was a scholar. It would make the most sense to read through the clan’s histories, and she’d had that chance a few days ago in Merrick’s solar. She’d learned his grandmother had, in fact, been a Campbell, but she’d known that already. There’d been no reference to jewels or the Sinclairs.

  Now she was studying the tapestries. After all, the very first clue, which had sent Agata to the Mackenzies, had been hidden in an o
ld tapestry, and many clans recorded important events in tapestries. She’d already examined all the ones hanging in the great hall and the laird’s chambers, and now was working her way through the rest of the chambers.

  Shouts and laughter wafted up from the courtyard, and Saffy stopped her futile search long enough to peer out the window at the end of the corridor. A smile came to her lips as she watched Merrick’s children chasing one another below.

  Merrick.

  When had she begun to truly think of him that way? When had she begun to see him as a man?

  Mayhap the first time she’d seen him lift wee Eva onto his lap as she angrily explained her younger brother’s actions. Or the first time he’d patted stout Nolan on his shoulder. Or…

  She shook her head and rested her forearms on the ledge, watching Beck chase Eva with something small and furry as Maggie fought an imaginary opponent. Adelaide sat in the sun, embroidering something, while their nurse played a game with little Isobel.

  There were so many rumors surrounding the Sutherland Devil… That he acted swiftly, and without mercy. That he’d murdered his own brother, and from what she’d learned about his current troubles, he was at war with another brother. That his father had sired numerous bastards, as had he, none of whom the Sutherlands bothered claiming.

  But…the last one clearly wasn’t true. She was watching his brood now, and knew not only had he claimed them, but cared for them.

  When he was with them, when they called him “Da”, he was Merrick, not the Sutherland Devil.

  A chuckle escaped Saffy’s lips as Eva turned around and stuck out a foot, trying to trip Beck. He stumbled—catching himself at the last minute—and flung whatever he’d been holding at her. And Eva, bless her heart, caught the creature and carefully set it down, allowing it to scamper off.

  Eva had her father’s dark hair, but that was all they shared. Most of the other bairns must’ve taken after their mothers. Mary was the only one with her father’s unusual eyes, although Saffy had heard the absent Willie took after his sire as well. The other children had light hair and brown eyes. Wee Beck looked angelic—until he smiled, and then it was clear he was planning something.