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

by Caroline Lee

  “And once I trusted ye?”

  Still holding her, he met her eyes. She was staring at him with the most serious expression.

  “Do ye?” he whispered. “Trust me?”

  “Do ye trust me?” she fired back.

  It took a long moment for him to admit the truth. “Last night ye swore ye weren’t Lindsay’s spy. Today I saw ye risk yer life”—he wiggled her wounded forearm—“to kill Lindsay’s men. I donae think ye’re one of them anymore.”

  “I never was.”

  “Aye, ’tis what ye’ve been saying all along. I donae ken why ye came to my land…”

  He twined his fingers through hers and pressed her hips against him once more. They still had several hours of riding ahead of them. He needed to cleanse her wound to ensure it wouldn’t fester before the healer could tend to it. He needed to deal with Gavin and the other injured men and determine what to do next when it came to Lindsay.

  Aye, he had plenty he should be considering. But standing here beside this stream, his lips still tingling from her kiss, and his skin still tingling from her nearness, there was only one thing on his mind.

  I donae ken why ye came to my land…

  “But now that ye’re here, I’m no’ letting ye go.”

  It was a vow.

  Chapter Eight

  I’m no’ letting ye go.

  Saffy couldn’t decide if it was a threat or not. Still, when he kissed her again, hard and desperate, she decided she didn’t care. Being in Merrick’s arms made her forget everything else.

  Especially insignificant concerns like he’d known she was a lass.

  But if it resulted in her being pressed against him like this, his tongue caressing her lips, she couldn’t be too irritated that her disguise wasn’t as good as she’d hoped.

  After, he pulled her toward the stream and washed her wound, his hands gentle, even if he didn’t meet her eyes or say a word. Then he lifted her up on his horse, cradling her on his lap as he nudged the animal toward home.

  Nestled against his chest, Saffy gave a secret smile when she felt his hardness pressed against her bottom. She knew what that meant, and couldn’t help her little wiggle of excitement.

  She’d accepted that she was attracted to the man, but had bemoaned ever doing anything about it. But now it turned out not only did he know she was a woman; he was attracted to her as well. So, who was to say he wouldn’t do more than kiss her? Was he taking her to his chambers right now? Would he peel her clothing off and lick her skin the way she wanted him to?

  Her breaths were coming faster, and she wiggled again, unconsciously trying to ease the ache between her legs.

  “Stop that,” he growled, tightening his hold on her.

  She froze, then realized what he was objecting to as his member gave another jump under his kilt. A small smile tugged at her lips.

  “Aye, Devil,” she agreed in a teasing tone, her cheek against his chest.

  Her arm burned, her pulse thrummed, and she was certain his I’m no’ letting ye go had been a promise of further pleasure. But despite everything buzzing through her head, she fell asleep.

  When they reached the keep, she was startled awake. To her surprise, Merrick seemed to ignore her all together, or at least treat her no different than he had Saf, his squire. He swung her down from his horse before she was even fully awake, then strode into the great hall, bellowing orders and questions.

  She scurried in behind him, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

  It soon became apparent that, no matter what they’d shared by the stream, no matter his intense, choked whisper when he’d pressed his forehead to hers and made that vow, he was now thinking of his clan.

  None were dead, and of them, Gavin seemed to be the most seriously wounded. His cut had stopped bleeding, but Farran had to support him completely, and didn’t seem to be fully conscious.

  Gavin might’ve been Merrick’s friend, but it was the Sutherland Devil who demanded a reckoning as they waited for the healer to arrive.

  And he might’ve tried to hide it, but Saffy could see how alarmed Merrick was when Gavin couldn’t answer for his failure.

  The healer—a beautiful older woman named Magda—lived in the village but kept a fully-stocked healing room in the keep. Enlisting a few of the maids, she moved among the men, stitching and bandaging and offering light-hearted banter to keep spirts up.

  She checked Andrew, who was unharmed thanks to Saffy, then moved on to Saffy. The older woman gestured to the surcoat.

  “Well, lad, let’s have that smelly thing off, shall we? One of the lasses will have it washed up, if ye persist in wearing it.”

  Reluctantly, Saffy began to pull the heavy wool from her shoulders, feeling as if she were removing armor. Merrick knew her for who she really was, so why was she still hiding?

  Because he does no’ ken who ye really are.

  Magda clucked impatiently, but her hands were careful as she helped pull material over Saffy’s wound. The healer’s eyes rested briefly on Saffy’s chest where the linen shirt hid the wrapping over her breasts.

  Was it Saffy’s imagination, or had Magda winked before leaning over her sword wound?

  She might’ve continued that line of thought had the healer not chosen that moment to prod at the deep gash. Everything went white-hot then, and Saffy was sure her whimper was pitiful.

  And maybe she would’ve screamed, except at that moment, a heavy hand came down on her shoulder. She glanced up to see Merrick standing beside her, his attention on his men spread throughout the hall.

  But his thumb was making tiny circles against the linen of her shirt, as if offering support. And that, more than anything else, relaxed her.

  She turned her attention back to the healer and tried to pretend—as he was—that Merrick’s attention was no more than a laird to his squire. But it didn’t stop the spread of warmth throughout her.

  It seemed like forever before Magda declared her wound treated, stitched, and wrapped sufficiently.

  The healer sighed in contentment and sat back. “Ye’ll have a scar, but a young warrior like yerself shouldnae mind, aye?” That was definitely a wink. Maybe she just winked at all her charges? “But I heard it was bravely got, defending someone ye might no’ have had reason to.”

  Saffy’s gaze darted across the hall to rest on Andrew, who was clutching a mug of ale and glaring broodingly in their direction.

  Magda nodded. “Aye, young Andrew has already told the story. Ye saved his life, Saf, and the laird will no’ forget that.”

  They both glanced up at Merrick, who didn’t respond, or even look their way. But his fingers did tighten briefly on Saffy’s shoulder, which might’ve been an agreement.

  She cleared her throat and lowered her chin. “I only did what anyone would do for—for a fellow warrior.” The words felt dry in her mouth.

  Magda chuckled as she folded up her linen bandages. “But would they do it for a man who’d accused them of treachery, thrown them in the dungeon, and left them to die?”

  Saffy recognized the teasing and couldn’t resist quipping back. “They might, were they as good and selfless as I am.”

  Miracle of miracles, Merrick snorted at that, obviously not ignoring them as thoroughly as he appeared to be.

  Giving up on his charade, he pierced the healer with a glare. “Are ye done here, Magda?”

  “Aye, milord,” the woman said, rising to her feet and bobbing in deference. “I’ve given my leave to most of yer men to return home. I’ll visit over the coming days. Gavin will need to stay in the healing room, and I’ll sit with him in between. I can change wee Saf’s bandage as well.”

  Merrick nodded, a Devil once more. Then, using his hold on Saffy’s shoulder, he tugged her to her feet. “He’ll stay in my chambers, and I’ll alert ye to any change.”

  The healer bobbed again in agreement, but Merrick was already pulling Saffy toward the stairs.

  He? Merrick had called her “he”. Saf
fy shook her head, not sure if she was confused or lightheaded or just exhausted. Did Merrick want her to remain Saf, his squire? Or…

  She stumbled over her own feet, and before she knew it, Merrick had swept her up into his arms. Why was he still treating her like his squire?

  In his chambers, he kicked the door closed and stomped toward the bed. She half-expected him to toss her on the mattress judging by how tense his shoulders were. But instead, he lowered her gently, not meeting her eyes.

  When he reached for her feet, she almost pulled them out of his reach, but then relaxed and remembered he knew her secret.

  Well, one of them, at least.

  That thought kept her occupied as he tugged her shoes off, pulled back the coverlet, and pushed her legs under. But when he reached for the tie of her shirt at her neck, she sucked in a breath.

  Was this…was this what she hoped? His knuckles brushed against her skin, and she damn near moaned in anticipation.

  Why wasn’t he looking at her? He was frowning as he studied the cords, then made a sound of satisfaction when they popped free.

  She wanted to echo it, and maybe she would’ve, except he distracted her by tugging her shirt up and over her head, leaving her sitting in his bed wearing only her breeches and the bindings around her breasts.

  At last!

  But nay, he only fisted his hand around the linen and stepped back.

  His pale eyes finally met hers, and although half-dazed with desire and exhaustion, she thought she saw wariness in them. “I’ll take—I’ll have this stitched and washed with yer surcoat,” he offered.

  She opened her mouth to repeat “washed?” incredulously, but all that emerged was a croak. He’d removed her clothes, he’d kissed her, and now he was leaving her alone?

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll bring ye food. For now, rest.”

  At that command, he spun on his heel and stomped to the door. Once he was gone, Saffy found herself sinking to the pillows.

  She was a scholar. She didn’t like being confused.

  Did he or did he not feel the same desire she felt for him? His reaction to her closeness indicated he did, so why wasn’t he acting on it? Mayhap he was concerned for her? But he had no reason to think she was anyone other than a free woman without ties, who knew her own mind.

  She closed her eyes on a sigh, hating this uncertainty, and hating the Lindsay who’d stabbed her just as much.

  Today she’d experienced her first battle—and handled herself fairly well, if she did say so herself—and her first painful wound. She’d also experienced her first kiss, which she liked much more.

  But despite the way her mind was whirling, exhaustion won out, and she found herself following her laird’s command to rest.

  It was hours later when she felt the bed dip beside her, and she instinctively rolled toward the newcomer, part of her thinking it was Citrine.

  But nay, the arms which wrapped around her were much stronger and larger than her sister, and the scent of leather and smoke was different—better—than anything she’d smelled before.

  Still half-asleep, she tucked herself under his chin, her injured arm curled between them. She wanted to kiss him again.

  They lay like that for long moments, her listening to his heartbeat, wondering if he was there to make love to her…but sleep crept in once more.

  His breathing lulled her, and his arms held her as if she were actually important to him.

  I’m no’ letting ye go.

  She fell asleep smiling.

  Mayhap another bastard wouldnae be that bad.

  Merrick slouched at the head table, his untouched trencher before him, and the noise of the meal swirling around him, staring into his flagon of ale. It was the day after the battle with the Lindsays, and nothing had changed; Andrew was still sulking, Gavin was still unconscious, and Saf…

  Saf was still half-naked in his bed.

  She’d woken with him this morning and had stared with bright eyes at his rock-hard cock before he’d reached for his kilt. It hadn’t been fear or disgust he’d seen in her expression, nay. It’d been want, the same want that had been coursing through him for days now.

  That kiss didnae make anything better, fool.

  Cursing himself, he took a draught of the ale, wondering if he should’ve eaten something first. Was he trying to get drunk?

  A squeal from the other end of the table caught his attention, and he lunged forward in time to catch the roll Maggie had lobbed at Adelaide. When he glared at the wild twelve-year-old, Maggie paled and sank back into her seat.

  Beside him, Mary chuckled low in her throat and leaned over to pluck the bread from his hand. Still clutching the goblet, he turned his glare on her, but she merely patted his arm and took a bite of the bread.

  “Ye’re no’ fit company this afternoon, Da.”

  “Aye,” he growled, collapsing back in his seat.

  “And ye’re getting drunk, which isnae good. Are ye feeling guilty?”

  Why? he wanted to snap. This daughter of his was perceptive. He raised a brow in her direction, and her lips twitched.

  “Well, I donae ken why any of ye brave warriors would feel guilty, but Andrew’s been moping about, too.”

  “He’s feeling guilty because he needed to be saved by a—a lad.”

  He’d almost blurted Saf’s secret. Last night, he’d treated her as his squire, as they’d been before she’d thrown herself off a horse to protect one of his warriors. Before he’d kissed her.

  I’m no’ ready to reveal her secret.

  And he vowed to himself he’d discover why she’d come to his home dressed as a lad in the first place.

  But Mary was shaking her head. “Nay, he’s feeling guilty because Saf had every reason to want him dead, but instead she—I mean he—saved Andrew.”

  Merrick’s eyes darted up to his daughter’s, who didn’t look at all uncomfortable by her slip. Had it been a slip? Or intentional?

  He frowned, wondering who else had seen through Saf’s disguise.

  “Da, I stopped by to chat with Saf today. He said ye’ve locked him in and commanded him to rest.”

  She wasn’t asking, but he nodded. “He lost a lot of blood,” he mumbled, looking into his flagon once more.

  Mary made a little noise of dismissal. “He’s lonely, Da. And ye’re terrible company. I’ll sit in yer chair and glare at the bairns, if ye’d like, so ye can retire.”

  “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

  She frowned fiercely, obviously an attempt to mimic him. “Aye,” she growled in a low voice. “Ye’re giving everyone indigestion.”

  With a snort, he slammed the flagon to the table. “And here’s me thinking mayhap another bairn wouldnae be so bad. I cannae stand the sass I get from the ones I’ve already got!”

  Mary leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I ken what ye were thinking, Da, and I ken ye deserve to be happy. If another bairn would do that, then ye have my blessing.”

  Merrick was frowning slightly as he pulled away and stood up. He stared at his eldest child for a long moment, trying to understand her words. She just smiled sweetly and turned to Beck, who was trying to pick his nose with his knife.

  I ken what ye were thinking.

  Did she? Could his daughter guess how much he lusted after his own squire?

  His frowned deepened. The fact that his sweet girl knew anything about a man’s lust was a sin laid at Robbie’s feet, and his brother was already burning in hell for it.

  With a stifled sigh, Merrick turned from the table. Mary was right; he was unfit company.

  And the fact he was trying to convince himself having another bastard might be nice was enough of a hint he was in desperate need of release. He needed to take himself in hand, the way he’d tried that night with Saf sleeping at his bedside. Mayhap he could find some privacy in his solar.

  Aye, that was what he needed. A quick release, and he’d remember why taking Saf to bed would be a bad idea.


  But his traitorous feet took him toward his own chamber, and when he pushed open the door, he sucked in a breath. She’d whirled from where she stood at the table, the chess board spread before her. The late-afternoon light coming through the window had turned her short hair honey-blonde, and he liked the way her eyes lit up to see him. She was wearing one of his shirts over her breeches, and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal one slim arm.

  The reminder of her risk caused him to scowl.

  “Ah,” she drawled. “There’s the Devil I was expecting.”

  He reached out and slammed the door closed. “Why are ye out of bed?”

  “Because I was bored. And with no one to join me, there was nothing to do.”

  The twinkle in her eyes told him she knew exactly what she was hinting at. And curse his traitorous cock.

  He stalked toward her. “Who are ye?” he breathed, coming to a stop in front of her, his eyes raking her face. “Ye’re no’ a spy. A whore?”

  “Is that what ye call any woman who enjoys a man’s company? One who kens her own mind?”

  He blew out an exasperated breath and ran his hand through his hair. What kind of idiot turned down an offer like Saf’s?

  One who has enough bastards.

  But he didn’t back up fast enough. She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest. “I’ll stop teasing ye, Merrick. Only tell me this, ye didnae plan to kiss me yesterday, did ye?”

  “Nay,” he growled. “No’ at all. Ye might no’ be a spy, but ye’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

  She nodded, as if he’d told her something she’d already known. Was she thinking about what he’d revealed there beside the stream? That her death would’ve mattered to him?

  Would’ve broken him.

  Before she could pull away, he grabbed her hand, the one resting against his chest, and turned it over. This was her right hand, the uninjured arm. His forefinger traced the fresh calluses she’d earned from training with him over the last weeks, but there were others…

  “This is from a stylus,” he said, remembering that first night in his chamber, when he’d examined her and wondered who she was. “Ye’re no crofter.”