Kilted Sin
Brethren of Stone
Tammy Andresen
Copyright © 2019 by Tammy Andresen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Rogue Scot
Other Titles by Tammy
About the Author
Chapter One
William Sinclair rode toward the loch, the fall wind biting at his skin. Not that the cold mattered. He had every intention of dunking himself in the near-freezing water. He liked the feeling of that bite on his flesh.
He wasn’t a masochist, but freezing water was a reminder that he was alive and well, no matter what else was happening and, recently, a great deal had happened.
For starters he’d spent nearly every piece of silver he had to his name on a piece of land in the Highlands. What little remained jingled in a pouch at his side. He was fortunate that it was already working land, fully staffed and ready to turn a profit, but this investment was still a large leap for anyone to take. He had no money to pay the house staff, or restock food, and he wouldn’t collect rents for several weeks—if he could collect them at all. They had to get a winter harvest in the ground first. His skin rippled with anxiousness just thinking about it and he kicked the horse faster.
At least he could console himself that he was doing what was best for the people who occupied the land. They would continue to have a lord to keep their jobs and homes safe and the demand for their product secure. At least that was what he hoped to do.
Helping others was the Sinclair way. His family members prided themselves on taking care of those around them, especially those not able to care for themselves.
Seeing the sparkle of water ahead, he straightened away from Hades’ neck even as he pulled off his shirt. Reaching the shoreline, he jumped out of the saddle and dropped the garment to the ground. Then, he kicked off his boots and stripped down his trousers. His horse, exceptionally well-trained, wouldn’t move until a rider was back in the saddle. The wind nipped at William’s skin and for a moment he hesitated. Perhaps jumping headlong into either freezing water or large purchases of land was not the best method for running his life. Mayhap it was time to think things through a bit more. That was the problem with being the third brother. He was always racing to keep up.
“I didn’t expect to see the moon so early in the day,” a high, clear, feminine voice called behind him.
Reaching down, he snatched up the first garment he could get his fingers around and pulled it in front of his male parts. Then he spun about to see with whom he was dealing. “I’ll have ye ken that this is a private swim.”
“Private?” a lass called from several feet away. “Since when did lochs become private?”
Will’s teeth snapped together. Dark auburn hair and vivid blue eyes met his gaze. A playful smile tugged at her full lips as a hand rested jauntily on a pair of decidedly delicious hips.
An imp.
Granted, a beautiful one, but still a saucy little woodland fairy set here to do mischief. He could tell by the sparkling look in her eye. He glanced down and realized he’d grabbed up his shirt. Damn. If it had been his pants, he would have tried to put them on. It wasn’t that he was insecure about his body but she was fully clothed while he was completely starkers. Made a man nervous. “This particular loch is located smack dab in the middle of my land. I can’t rightly recall if I own the water but I ken I own what ye’re currently standing on. That makes this private property and you,” he leveled her with a glare, “a trespasser.”
Her eyebrows lifted up as she took a few steps toward him. Her hips gave a saucy sway as she moved. “Trespasser? Is that right, my lord?” Her chin notched down as her brows lifted, making her eyes look larger. “What will you do with me, I wonder?”
He sucked in his breath. He’d spent the last several weeks helping his brother, Blair, get his shipping company up and running. He hadn’t had time for much else, besides the purchase of the land that bordered Blair’s. Belatedly, it occurred to him it had been weeks, if not months, since he’d been with a woman. And none of them had ever been as tempting as the Scottish fairy in front of him.
Her straight little nose wrinkled slightly. “Tell me you won’t hurt me, will you? With all those rippling muscles and manly shoulders.”
His gaze followed the delicate curve of her neck down to the neckline of her simple wool gown. He could see the ample curve of her breast and he willed himself to concentrate on anything else. He gave a snort. “Hurt a woman? Don’t be daft. But all the same, I’d prefer privacy. Remember, we’ve covered this already.”
She began moving toward him once again, her walk slow and hypnotic. “You know,” she started, her voice dropping low with a husky tone. “Private doesn’t have to mean alone.”
He shivered with the promise it held. Dear merciful saints. Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? And where had his senses gone? Clearly they’d all rushed down to the swelling part of his body because his brain was actually considering her not-so-subtle offer. “In this case it does.” He took a step back, reaching out one hand. “If you will excuse me, Miss…” he paused, staring pointedly, waiting for her to fill in her name.
“McLaren.” She smiled sweetly as she continued to move closer. “And you are?”
“Will Sinclair.” He took another step back, his heel dipping into the freezing water. Had he actually been contemplating a swim? The cold did allow some of the blood to begin circulating back through his body and into his brain. “Now I must insist you go.”
Finally, she ceased her advance, stopping about a foot in front of him. She touched his cheek with delicate ivory fingers, skimming down his rougher skin and trailing over his neck. He forgot all about the cold, and the functioning of his mind, as his body roared with need at the touch.
“Go? But I just got here.” Her palm flattened on his chest. “Tell me, Laird Sinclair, are your holdings large? Do you have a good life here in the Highlands? Is this a place where one can make a living?”
“You’re not from here?” He managed to push out the question in a raspy voice that sounded strange to his own ears. Her touch made his muscles tighten in the most agonizing way.
She ran the flat of her hand over his nipple and he sucked in his breath as sensation tightened the muscles of his stomach. This woman was the sweetest form of torture he’d ever known. She lifted her other hand toward him and he found himself eagerly awaiting her touch, the last of his will to resist stripped away.
“Nope. I’m from Kirkaldy. Just come for a visit.” She stepped a touch closer so that he could feel her heat as she blocked part of his body from the wind.
He raised his hands to hold that tiny waist. “Who are ye visit—”
But his words were cut short as, with a mighty push, he went flying backward into the loch. His first thought was how could a woman who looked so delicate be so strong? As his body hit the
icy water, he stopped thinking at all. It was shallow enough that he had a difficult time getting his feet under him and, as he stood, he blinked the water out of his eyes. Swiping at them with his soaking shirt, he cleared them just in time to see her riding away on his horse, his pants firmly in her grasp, waving like a flag in the wind.
He was soaking wet with naught but a pair of boots.
* * *
Gemma whipped the beast faster as she flew over the bare, open land of the Highlands. She ignored the guilt niggling in her belly. He might freeze to death after what she’d done.
Then again, he was the fool about to go for a swim.
Besides, he was a fat and happy laird—well not fat, actually. She didn’t mean that literally. He was rather lean and muscular. Handsome, if a girl liked that rugged, craggy sort of look. A shiver coursed through her. Which she did, unfortunately.
Quite honestly, her affection for rough-looking men was what had landed her in this mess in the first place.
Sean had been the same sort. Darkly handsome and charming as a summer day was long. She’d fallen for all of it. Married the sod even. What a gullible little fool she’d been.
Her mother had tried to warn her. “He’s no good, Gemma. His father was no good and his grandfather was no good. Leave him be or you’ll regret it.”
Had she listened? No. She stuck by him even when he stopped working on the docks. And she’d kept up the façade when he’d spent his days and most of his nights in the pub. It wasn’t until he’d left for the Highlands chasing a real life for them, or so he’d said, that she knew just how right her mother had been. Her silly, weak heart had still held out hope however. He sent a few letters but after a year, he disappeared entirely. It took another full year before she’d stopped waiting on some message from him and another year after that before she could enter their cottage without staring down the lane to see if he might appear.
Her heart squeezed in her chest. By the third year after he’d vanished, she’d erased every last clue he had ever lived there. Ever shared her life. It was as though he didn’t exist.
That was until another letter had arrived.
Not from Sean but a magistrate. The carefully penned note explained that as Sean McLaren’s first and legal wife, upon his death, she was entitled to his inheritance and that she need report to the magistrate’s office located at the village center of Aberdeen to collect. Failure to do so within one year’s time would result in the forfeit of said property to the next of kin, his eldest son. Then he signed it: Sincerely, Mr. Fergus McLean.
Her stomach had near fallen to her feet. First and legal wife? Eldest son? Her and Sean hadn’t had children. She’d told herself over and over that it was a blessing they hadn’t but she’d often wondered if she’d given him a child if he might have stayed. The letter implied he had not one but multiple sons. In fairness, it had also implied that he had more than one wife.
She gripped the pants tighter. Men were scum. She didn’t know Will Sinclair but he’d likely deserved his swim in the loch.
And more than likely he deserved the little lesson she’d delivered about trying to take advantage of a lone woman. Of course, he probably wouldn’t see the theft of his horse and change purse jingling in the pocket of his pants as a lesson but that was his problem.
Besides, she really needed both. She’d barely supported herself as a seamstress after Sean’s abandonment. The trip up here to find out what had happened to Sean had taken months to save for and she’d still spent every extra penny she had. In fact, she’d run out of money but with only a month left to collect the inheritance, she’d had no choice but to leave her home anyway. Whatever the pants contained would feed her as she tried to find out what her no-good, rotten husband had been doing before he up and died.
Chapter Two
The walk back to Will’s new home had been one of the most humiliating experiences of his life. And also the coldest. He’d fashioned his soaking wet shirt about his waist to provide some amount of modesty but it only added to the cold.
He was going to have to face Mrs. Cleary in this state. His housekeeper was one of the few staff that the old laird had left behind. She veiled her hostility by barely speaking to him, or perhaps she acted like that with everyone. Either way, their relationship was tense. There was only the cook and one maid, who’d left to marry the blacksmith. Without money, he couldn’t afford to hire anyone else. He couldn’t even afford to keep what he had but he’d promised them bonuses when the first rents came in. Upon hearing his promise, Mrs. Cleary had narrowed her gaze and walked away without a word.
It took him an hour and half to make the walk, the bitter Highland winds cutting into him as he approached the house. He needed a warm bath and a hot cup of broth followed by a stiff drink.
As he walked into the kitchen, he nearly groaned with relief when the heat of the stove hit his skin. His relief was short lived.
Mrs. Cleary stood with the cook, Mrs. Hammond, on the other side of the prep table. Mrs. Hammond’s jaw dropped and her eyes were big as saucers they serve tea on as she assessed him, while Mrs. Cleary stood with her arms crossed, her gaze narrowed. “Fine example yer setting,” she huffed.
He took a deep breath, asking for patience as he assessed the two women. Those were not the words he’d hoped would break the silence. “I don’t have the energy to give ye any explanation other than tae ask ye to warm water for a bath,” he replied, then moved closer to the fire and turned his back from her accusing glare. A shudder coursed through him as he digested her contempt. Gads he hoped the shirt adequately covered his backside. He didn’t like being the object of derision, even if the person was a staff member. If even the house servants didn’t respect him, who would? This didn’t bode well for his desire to prove himself worthy of the Sinclair name.
“I can’t draw a bath right now,” the housekeeper said. “I’m a mite busy.” Each word was clipped shorter than the last.
“Busy doing what?” He fired back, glancing at her over his shoulder and in no mood to be given guff by any woman. “Standing there judging me?”
“Busy taking care of the two children dropped on your doorstep this morning.” She untangled one arm from the cross she’d made about her chest and swept her hand toward the ground.
He turned around, then took a step closer to her, sick dread tightening his chest as he looked over the table. A set of large blue eyes met his, looking enormous in a little girl’s face. She couldn’t be more than five.
Next to her was an even smaller boy, maybe two or three, his thumb tucked between his lips. He stared, his brain numb. Children? Dropped at his door? “Holy mother of…”
“They’ve been here for less than an hour and already they’ve been subjected to a near naked man.” His housekeeper crossed her arms again and tapped her foot. “Perhaps cursing isn’t appropriate.”
He took a steadying breath. He’d like, in this moment, to tell Mrs. Cleary to mind her own damn business and do her damn job. Who the hell did she think she was? But the truth was that he needed her. Who else could he hire to work for free until he could settle his debt? “Who dropped them?”
“A young woman from St. Mary’s Orphanage brought them here,” she said matter-of-factly. “The nuns had looked at their birth records and found they were connected to the family.”
Relief rippled down his spine. “Birth records? Is St. Mary’s a local facility?” He gave Mrs. Cleary a glare, hoping she would realize her mistake. “I’ve only been the laird for a fortnight.”
Understanding dawned in Mrs. Cleary’s eyes as they widened considerably and her cheeks filled with color. “Oh my. We’ll have to send them back.” Then she reached into her apron pocket and handed him an envelope.
Will supposed it was unreasonable to think that Mrs. Cleary might apologize for her assumption that he’d fathered and abandoned multiple children.
“No,” a little voice inserted. “Please.”
His gaze swung to the little
girl, her red hair coming down either shoulder in matching braids. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please don’t send us back there.”
He winced as something tugged in his chest. She didn’t wail, but a silent tear slid down her cheek. It made him ache for her all the more.
His own parents had died when he’d been a teenager. Will understood a little of what it meant to be an orphan. He’d been lucky. His brother Stone had stepped up and taken over the family and the duties of the earldom. It was a Sinclair motto to take care of those who were less fortunate and Stone was the embodiment of that dedication.
But still, Will remembered that feeling of uncertainty, like being adrift at sea, when his parents had died.
“We’re not doing anything yet,” he found himself saying. What the hell? When had he allowed every female he came into contact with to completely run his life? “What’s yer name?”
“Fiona,” she whispered while squeezing her brother’s hand. “And this is Ewan.”
He leaned his arms on the table. Normally, he would have squatted down, but who knew what view he’d give them. “I’m Will and that is Mrs. Cleary.”
She gave a little nod and stepped toward him with a tentative step. “It’s not nice there,” she whispered. “Please let us stay here. Please. We’ll do anything. We can help clean.”
His gut clenched. He looked up to Mrs. Cleary. He could barely afford the food to feed them, the house was understaffed as it were, and Mrs. Cleary openly glared. “I can not be responsible for these children on top of my other duties,” she said sternly.
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