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

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The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle Page 43

by Caroline Lee


  Nay, Saf had to get them to safety.

  During the battle, there’d been a moment when he’d turned and sworn he’d seen her on the keep’s steps. He’d yelled to her, but the next time he’d whirled in that direction, she’d been gone.

  She’s safe.

  She had to be. If he thought she wasn’t, there’s no way he could accept whatever Lindsay had planned for him.

  A commotion by the hall drew Lindsay’s attention, and Merrick watched from the corner of his eye as two Lindsay warriors dragged a limp man between them.

  “What should we do with the traitor, milord?” one asked.

  It wasn’t until he lifted the limp man’s head that Merrick recognized Gavin. Despite his best friend’s recent treachery, Merrick had been glad to have him at his back moments before, and although he’d known Gavin had fallen, Merrick’s stomach tightened to see him like this.

  Gavin had betrayed the Sutherlands, but the Lindsays seemed to have no loyalty to him either. Dully, Merrick remembered Gav being so sure Saf wasn’t a Lindsay. It must’ve been because he’d known these men. Had he known what they were capable of?

  “Is he dead?” Lindsay drawled.

  “Nay, milord. We’re killing as many of the others as we can, as ye commanded. But the Sutherland bastards are dragging away their wounded before we can reach them.”

  Merrick surged against his captors then, his heart bleeding to think of his wounded men being cut down like animals. What kind of man issued a command like that? Especially about men who were related to him?

  Lindsay ignored his struggles. “Do not worry,” he said with a lazy wave. “We will find them later. As long as my brother is dead, they have no one to lead them. Are the fires under control?”

  Merrick forced himself to swallow down his pain—and anger at Lindsay’s unthinkable command—and listen his enemies as they described putting out the fires and saving the horses and servants.

  “And this one, milord?” the man prompted again.

  Lindsay tutted dismissively. “I suppose we cannot kill him, since he did us those small favors, and lent me that delectable sister of his rather against his will. Throw him in the dungeon. Mayhap he will do us a favor and bleed to death.”

  Merrick watched the men drag Gavin toward the armory and the stone steps down to the dungeon, not sure if he should be thankful his friend still lived. Movement caught his eye, and he watched a small shape flit to the shadows from the door to the kitchens. It floated toward the men holding Gavin, but when they disappeared, the figure stopped and turned toward the dais.

  The sun was pinking the eastern sky by now. The attack had come hours before, it seemed, and dawn was heralding a new day. A new day with John Lindsay as the Sutherland Laird, in control of the keep.

  Merrick breathed deep, knowing this day would be his last, and trying to be at peace with the knowledge.

  Mayhap he would’ve been, had the growing light not revealed the figure’s face.

  “Merrick!”

  Saf screamed his name as she tore barefoot across the rushes, and he cursed silently. What in damnation did she think she was doing? She couldn’t help him, and now he couldn’t go to his death knowing she was safe.

  Merrick surged forward once more, intent on getting to her, at the same moment, Lindsay lazily reached out and snatched her by her hair, yanking her to a stop.

  The warriors behind him forced Merrick to the ground once more, and he met Saf’s terrified eyes, willing her not to speak. She was dressed as if she’d just come from bed—his bed, and although she wore his clothing, Lindsay couldn’t mistake her sex, not with his shirt gaping open on her that way.

  She lifted her hands to his, where it gripped her hair, but he merely lifted her off the ground. The noise she made—part whimper, part curse—made Merrick pray for a blade to plant in his half-brother’s neck.

  Lindsay was peering down at her like she was an interesting plaything, and when he licked his lips, Saf shuddered. He turned to grin at Merrick.

  “Well, well, brother. Who is this?”

  It was that moment that Merrick realized Lindsay hadn’t seen his futile attempts to save Saf. All the other man knew was that this wench had screamed Merrick’s name and tried to save him.

  If Lindsay realized how much she meant to him, the bastard would hurt her just to punish Merrick.

  And so, even though it was damn near impossible, Merrick forced a bland expression as he met his half-brother’s eyes. “Just a lass, Lindsay.”

  The other man hummed thoughtfully and fingered the man’s shirt she wore. Saf flinched away from his touch and met Merrick’s eyes, the unspoken plea loud in their blue depths.

  Forcing himself to harden his heart against her terror, Merrick kept his attention on his half-brother.

  “It seems you have a taste for adventurous wenches, brother.” Lindsay smirked. “We share that trait, apparently. That Elana was woefully unimpressive—she did nothing more than cry when she was under me. I would’ve slit her throat had I not needed her to keep her brother in line.”

  Had Lindsay’s earlier command to kill the wounded not convinced Merrick he was a monster, his casual admission about raping an unwilling lass did. Bile threatened the back of his throat, but Merrick swallowed.

  “Nay, this one…she is weak-willed.” Saints, but the lie was hard to utter, made worse by the hurt he saw in her eyes. “She’s addled as well.” Mayhap, if his lies didn’t save her, he could make Lindsay underestimate Saf. “Does little in bed beside cry and pray.”

  There. That sounded unappealing.

  Her tongue flicked out over her lips. “Ye really are the Devil, are ye no’?” she hissed at him.

  He kept his expression bored as he met her eyes, wondering if the pain he saw was for his words, or if she’d understood what he was trying to do.

  Affecting an uninterested shrug, Merrick grunted. She bit out a curse.

  But Lindsay was staring down at her, a speculative light in his eyes. “Hm. Mayhap ’tis as my brother says.” He leaned down and dragged his tongue across her cheek, making her flinch away once more. “Or mayhap I can make you beg. When a man’s blood lust is high, a wench who just lies there and takes his cock can be appealing as well.”

  As quick as an adder strike, Lindsay twisted, dragging Saf with him, and tossed her toward one of his men. “Lock her in my new chambers—the laird’s chambers. When I’m through with this trash, I’ll fuck her black and blue.”

  Saf’s terrified scream mixed with his roar of fury as he threw himself forward once again. This time, his rage lent him enough strength to tear away from one of the warriors. He needed to get to her, to save her from this bastard’s touch.

  He would! He wouldn’t let her be afraid any longer!

  If he had to die to ensure her safety, he refused to allow his last glimpse of her to be the horrified look she threw his way as she was being carried from the hall. He would go to her!

  And he would’ve, had the second warrior not regained his wits and slammed something hard into the back of Merrick’s head.

  Darkness was all he knew.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was no lock on the outside of the laird’s chambers, and that took Saffy all of a moment to determine. After the brutish Lindsay warrior threw her into the room, he growled at her to stay put if she knew what was good for her. Was that supposed to intimidate her into staying?

  It didn’t.

  Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she counted slowly to one hundred, then backward just for good measure. Each moment she spent in this room Merrick was a moment closer to death. But she had to be sure there were no guards waiting for her in the hall.

  Finally, she cracked the door open to check.

  The hall was empty.

  Releasing the breath she’d been holding, she pressed her back to the wall beside the door and surveyed what she had available to her.

  Assets?

  Ye’re in Merrick’s chambers,
which ye ken far better than Lindsay will.

  A good point.

  Ye’re free—despite what Lindsay might think—while Merrick isnae.

  A chilling reminder, but which made her more determined to get herself out of this mess and help him.

  ’Tis possible ye’re the only one who can save Merrick and the bairns.

  Well, that last one wasn’t much of an asset…more of a terror. Leave it to her mind to point it out.

  First things first. She crossed directly to the large trunk under the window and levered the lid open.

  Although his larger blades, shields, and axes had their places of honor of the walls, this was where the smaller dirks were kept. As his squire, she’d sharpened and polished each one, and knew she could wield them much easier than one of the bigger weapons.

  Maggie’s small dirk was still tucked into the waist of Merrick’s braies she wore, but having a second would be wise.

  She’d just started to lower the lid when she heard voices outside, and hurried to stand.

  “Make sure my brother is well-secured in the dungeon. I want to save his death until his people are watching. There must be no doubt I am in charge here.”

  There was a murmur of assent, but Saffy’s mind was still focused on Lindsay’s words.

  Her heart had leapt at the knowledge Merrick was still alive, and knowing what was to come only fortified her resolve.

  As the door opened, she backed against the wall beside the small table where she and Merrick had played chess many evenings, and prayed she looked small and terrified.

  Actually, the “terror” wasn’t that hard to pretend.

  Lindsay stomped into the room and seemed surprised to see her. He paused and frowned, then shook his head.

  “I am in need of a change of clothes. These are filthy from riding all evening, but I doubt that Highland brother of mine owns anything but barbarian rags.”

  He moved toward the washbasin—the water was still cold from the night—and began to wash his hands. Saffy swallowed, eying the distance to the door. Mayhap she could squeeze past with his back turned, since he wasn’t yet interested in…what had he’d said? Fucking her black and blue?

  She shivered and swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise. There’d been a moment there, in the hall, when Merrick’s eyes had seemed so hard, it was possible to believe his words. Possible to believe she meant as little to him as his other women had.

  But she’d reminded herself there’d been no other women. Reminded herself that she trusted him, and that he was smart enough to use his wits to manipulate the situation.

  And she was smart enough to join him. So, she’d pretended great hurt, and it had nigh broken her heart to see his fear and anger as she’d been dragged out of the room. That, more than her own terror, had been what caused her to cry out so pitifully.

  She’d prayed to all the saints in heaven he’d be safe.

  When Lindsay turned from the basin, she startled, knowing she’d missed her chance. The knife was pressed against her thigh, and she was glad she’d left the sheath in the chest. With the blade hidden by her body like this, she might be able to strike him if he came close enough.

  Unfortunately, she might get her chance.

  “I asked you a question, whore,” he snapped.

  She licked her lips, not bothering to hide her fear, knowing it would help him underestimate her. “I’m—I’m sorry, milord.” What had he asked?

  “Sutherland’s clothing. Does he own anything refined?”

  Refined? What kind of question was that? “I donae know, milord,” she whispered, her voice quavering. Merrick had never worn aught besides his kilt when he was with her, and she had no idea what constituted “refined”.

  Actually, it was a little ironic that she stood here listening to Lindsay praise Lowlander garb, as it was that which had gotten her tossed into the Sutherland dungeons in the first place.

  Mayhap she’d played her part a little too well. Lindsay’s eyes raked her, and his gaze turned speculative.

  “I only retired here for a wash.” He slowly crossed the room, his steps lazy and anticipation in his eyes. “I had, frankly, forgotten all about the little firebrand my brother claimed is meek in bed. But now that I am here…”

  He reached down and adjusted his groin, and Saffy’s stomach roiled. He was speaking of taking her by force, the same way he’d so casually admitted to raping poor Elana. But Saffy wasn’t going to let it happen.

  She had her wits, and thanks to Merrick and Citrine’s training, she had a blade and knew what to do with it.

  Lindsay stopped in front of her, his pupils already dilated with desire, and his breath coming faster. “I wonder, whore, if you will pray and cry when I take you?”

  Faster than she could understand, he whipped his open palm across her mouth, the same as he’d done to Merrick.

  As Saffy jerked backward, slamming into the tapestry-covered wall, he grabbed her by the throat and tossed her toward the bed. She stumbled toward the still-rumpled coverlet, managing to keep the blade hidden under her palm.

  She leaned on the mattress with her free hand, trying not to tremble. She could feel the blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, but knew Lindsay hadn’t used his full strength on her, as he had on Merrick. Nay, he likely considered that a mere tap, a blow to make her meeker.

  Well, it hadn’t worked.

  She hid her anger and ducked her head as she turned to him, allowing her shoulders to shake as if she were crying.

  He was already reaching for the hem of his tunic as he prowled toward the bed. “’Tis best you pray, whore. Whoever you are to my brother, I cannot allow you to live when I’m done with you. I know his reputation for siring bastards, and you’re likely already breeding.”

  Unable to help herself, the corner of her lips tugged up at the thought of already being pregnant with Merrick’s baby. She should be terrified by Lindsay’s threats, but she was holding a blade, Merrick’s trust, and the fate of Merrick’s family.

  It was impossible not to feel powerful.

  So, she lifted her chin and met Lindsay’s eyes just as he unbuckled his belt.

  Whatever he saw in her gaze, he reared back.

  “You are a firebrand, are you not?” His chuckle was dry and cruel. “I will enjoy breaking you. Plunging one sword into you before the final one, so to speak!”

  As he laughed at his own joke, she knew the truth. They called Merrick the Sutherland Devil, but true evil stood before her now.

  Faster than she could blink, he bit off his laughter and pushed her backward, falling across her and forcing her onto the bed. She began to struggle then, which made him laugh harder.

  Half-frantic, feeling his hardness pushing against her thigh as he sought entry to her body, she twisted her grip on the dirk, nicking herself in the process. If only she could turn her forearm, she could plant the blade in his side.

  Of course, the throat is the best option.

  She stilled, remembering Merrick’s lesson from weeks ago. He’d told her the best places to plant her blade…and how to make it happen.

  In this position, with Lindsay grunting atop her, she didn’t have the leverage she needed. But a well-placed knee to the bollocks…

  When her blow landed, Lindsay made an animalistic noise and lurched away from her. It was all the opening she needed to swing her now-free arm up and around, aiming the dirk for his throat.

  Her aim might’ve hit true, except he was still doubled over, one hand cupping his groin and the other trying to hold up his breeches. Her blade, which had been aimed for his vulnerable throat, lodged in his shoulder instead. His roar was half-scream, half-curse, as he reached for the dirk embedded in his flesh.

  She didn’t stay to see him yank it out, but turned and ran for the door.

  Merrick was in the dungeon, and she was his only hope.

  As he forced his eyes open, Merrick couldn’t help the groan which escaped his lips.

  He
knew he was in his own dungeon—the very place where Saf had nearly died, due to Andrew’s over-enthusiastic loyalty—and knew there was only one small window. Still, the weak dawn light pierced his dazed brain like some sort of hot blade.

  “Merrick? Thank the saints.”

  The croak came from somewhere to Merrick’s left, and it was with great effort that he rolled from his side—where he’d been tossed by Lindsay’s men—onto his back to be able to see the speaker.

  “Gavin?” he asked in a dry whisper, then winced at how pitiful he sounded.

  When the other man lifted his head, he saw it was in fact his friend. But seeing him dangling in the Lindsays’ hold from across the great hall had not prepared Merrick for the sight of Gavin. The other man’s face was mottled red and purple already, as bruises rose, with one eye swollen shut and blood seeping from its corner.

  “Aye…laird. The bastards…didnae manage…”

  Gavin’s chest heaved as he struggled to breathe in between his words, and when he trailed off completely, Merrick knew the effort had been too much. He’d seen his friend fall from a wound in his side, and wondered how much blood he had lost from that. Was he even now dying in this cell?

  With another groan, Merrick rolled to his opposite side and managed to push himself to his hands and knees. The effort it took required him to stop and rest. His blood pulsed against his temples and the painful spot on his crown, where the blow had landed.

  God’s wounds, but he was in bad shape!

  “I’m sorry, Merrick,” came the whisper.

  Still on his knees, Merrick turned his head to take in his friend’s poor appearance. “Ye fought by my side, Gav.” The childhood nickname came easily, as if this was a lark. “And I heard what Lindsay did to Elana. I forgive ye.”

  Gavin’s lips curved weakly upward as he rested his head against the stone behind him. “Thank ye.” His breathing sounded a little better in that position. “But I was apologizing for breaking yet another vow to ye.”

 

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