With a huff, Pearl dropped the dark blue gown on the pile of other dresses Citrine had already given her. The four sisters had shared this chamber most of their lives, and their gowns as well. When Agata and Saffy went off to be wives, they’d taken some clothes but left much behind. This left more than a dozen gowns for Citrine to use…which she was now ensuring the youngest Sinclair Jewel would have, even if Pearl was living in a cottage in the village.
“Ye ken I can see what ye’re doing, aye?”
Citrine didn’t respond to Pearl’s question but turned back to the box, which was open. Carefully, she folded the old tapestry to place inside.
“Citrine. I said I ken what ye’re doing.”
“And what is that?”
Pearl threw herself across the bed, frowning at her sister. “Ye’re trying to get rid of all these gowns so the next woman here doesnae get them.”
As Citrine’s head snapped up and her anger flared, she thought for a moment that Pearl meant Da might marry again. But nay, she was talking about the next laird. He would have a wife, and she’d live in this keep.
“I’m no’ letting Dougal become laird after Da,” she growled, eyes narrowing at her sister. “He’ll no’ bring in a woman to steal our things.”
Pearl sighed. “And how will ye stop it? No’ only is he Da’s commander—and has been—but he’s a cousin. Of sorts.” She shrugged. “His grandmother was our great-grandda’s second wife, aye?”
“Aye,” Citrine snapped, “But that doesnae make him laird.”
“Did ye read Saffy’s letter?” Pearl asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
It worked. Citrine’s eyes went wide. “She wrote? Where is it?”
Frowning, Pearl pointed to a rolled parchment sitting atop one of the trunks Citrine had already packed. “I told ye I put it there. I kenned ye werenae paying attention to me!”
Mumbling an excuse, Citrine hurried across the room, damning the skirts she was forced to wear. She snatched up the letter from her twin and sank to the trunk to read it, her eyes skimming the familiar hand.
Dearest sisters,
I cannae believe how happy I am. The return journey was slow, as my husband insisted on pampering me. Since learning of my condition, he has no’ allowed me to spar with him once in the courtyard. I ken Citrine will understand the ignominy of that. And I ken Pearl will understand when I say his gentleness doesnae extend to the bedroom, for which I am pleased.
Citrine rolled her eyes, perfectly aware of her sisters’ habits of rutting with their husbands with little provocation. She was no ignorant virgin, but she had no idea how they could possibly allow themselves to lose control so easily.
The celebration the Sutherland people gave in honor of our marriage, lasted three full days. I am pleased to report that Gavin and Merrick seem to have healed their friendship, although I wonder if things will go back to the way they were. Poor Elana is recovering from her ordeal, which is a blessing, and the children are a joy.
Citrine, I look forward to one day introducing you to Maggie; she believes a woman has every right to fight beside her brothers, and with a brother like Becks, she needs all the help she can get! I believe Mary and Adelaide are most like me in their joy of learning, but I look forward to helping the others grow into strong adults.
Adelaide was actually a help to me recently.
Citrine, ye asked me to continue researching the missing jewels, and I believe her idea was a good one. At her suggestion, I wrote to the Campbell clan’s historian.
Dear sister, there were four Campbell sisters, all those years ago. One married our great-grandfather. Two went to the Mackenzie and Sutherland clans, becoming Jaimie and Merrick’s grandmothers.
But the fourth sister went to the MacLeods.
That is why we found the sapphire under the MacLeod crest, Citrine—I am sure of it!
I ken Da has betrothed ye to one of the MacLeods, and I ken equally well ye have no desire to go through with it. Ye likely arenae even planning on staying there, are ye? But this evidence, along with the location of the sapphire ’tis compelling.
If ye willnae marry the MacLeod warrior, will ye go to investigate the missing jewel?
My love to everyone,
Saffy
Citrine let the parchment dangle from her fingers as she stared at the worn, wooden floor. A fourth Campbell sister. ’Twas compelling evidence that the MacLeods did have something to do with her clans missing jewels.
“Was she right?” Pearl’s quiet words jerked Citrine’s attention. “About not planning on staying at Lewes? Are ye even planning on marrying the man Da picked out for ye?”
Citrine swallowed down the burst of guilt. “Ye’re one to talk, Pearl. Ye demanded to take holy vows afore marrying Da’s choice for ye.”
“Aye, and am glad I did so.” Pearl sat up in the bed, pulling her legs under her. “If I’d married Merrick Sutherland as Da wanted, Saffy wouldnae be so blissfully in love right now…and neither would I. But I’m asking about ye.”
With a muttered curse, Citrine rolled the parchment once more and threw it on the trunk. “I am betrothed to the man, but ’tis as far as ’twill go. I plan to travel to Lewes to find the missing jewels. And once I discover what I can, I’ll return.”
“Here.”
Frowning at her sister, Citrine stomped back to the table where she’d left the open box. “Aye, here. My home. Where I’m needed. Ye’re breeding, and ye live with Gregor now. ’Tis up to me to protect Da from Dougal.”
Pearl blew out a breath. “Ye really think Dougal is a danger? Da obviously doesnae think so.”
“Well, Da is blinded by his history with the man, I suppose.”
“Da has ruled this clan for longer than either of us have been alive.”
Snatching up the pouch containing the large agate their oldest sister had found, Citrine shook it at her sister. “So, what would ye have me do? Ignore my instincts? Ignore the fact my father—my clan—might need my help?” With a snarl, she tossed the pouch into the box atop the tapestry. “And travel to the other side of the kingdom to marry a lad who cannae lift a sword with two hands.”
Pearl snorted softly. “Ye’re being dramatic. Da said yer betrothed is a younger son, ’tis all. Ye’re a younger daughter. It means naught.”
“Aye, but—” Citrine bit down on the confession she’d been about to make and reached for the sapphire they’d wrapped in leather.
But her intuitive sister, used to understanding those around her, guessed.
“But if ye insult him,” Pearl said quietly, “’twill be easier to hate him when ye meet him?”
Citrine’s fingers tightened around the stone. “I donae want to marry him, Pearl. I donae want to live in some damp and cold castle on an island. I donae even like fish.”
With a small, pitying noise, Pearl stood and crossed to the table. She wrapped her arms around Citrine.
“I ken, sister. I do.” Pearl placed a kiss on her cheek. “Ye are the strongest of us all, and if anyone can defy tradition and Da’s alliance contracts, ’tis ye. Just try no’ to start a war while ye’re at it, all right?”
With a snort, Citrine returned the hug, then straightened. “All I want is to find the rest of the jewels, so Da will cease believing the Sinclairs are losing power. We are powerful!”
Pearl smiled and stepped back, her hands clasped in front of her. “Well, the legend says only the bravest and cleverest of the Sinclair warriors can return the stones and the clan’s glory.”
Citrine snorted again, carefully placing the sapphire beside the agate. “And if he could do that, he could become the next laird, eh?”
There was a twinkle in Pearl’s voice when she said, “Mayhap,” which caused Citrine to glance up. But her sister was only smiling innocently.
When Citrine frowned at her, Pearl turned away, gesturing to the piles of gowns. “I ken ye’re intent on returning, but if ye donae bring some of these, Da will grow suspicious. I’ll pack the tr
unks. Do ye care which ones I send with ye?”
“Nay,” she muttered, distracted. Her sister was right. She would have to take enough clothes to make their father think she was moving to Lewes for good. She sighed. “Save yer favorites, I guess, and send the rest with me.”
Pearl bustled about, while Citrine did her best to help—or at least, not get in the way. The youngest of the Sinclair Jewels was good at making others feel comfortable, and soon she had Citrine’s spirits lifted.
“What will ye do with the stones ye’ve collected already?” Pearl suddenly asked.
Citrine crossed back to the table, carefully closed the lid to the box, and picked it up. It was only slightly bigger than her hand, and surely no one would expect what power it contained? “I donae want to leave it here. I plan to return, aye, but with nae one to protect it…” She shook her head and held it out to her sister. “Ye take it. Keep it safe in yer home.”
Pearl was already shaking her head as she stepped back. “Nay, Citrine. Gregor is a fine warrior, aye, but I am no’. And I am rarely home during the day.” She spent her hours among the clan, helping and offering guidance in the village. “I couldnae leave it in the cottage if I wasnae there, but if I carried it with me, I could no’ protect it.”
Frowning, Citrine stared down at the small bundle. Pearl was right; she wasn’t the one to protect the jewels. She could ask Gregor, but Citrine wasn’t sure how much her silent brother-in-law knew of their mission, and she’d never ask him to keep such a secret from his laird.
With a sigh, she knew it would be best to give the jewels and the tapestry to Da. He could protect them, and mayhap it would improve his outlook.
But if he had the jewels, Dougal would know. Could she risk something happening to them before they were reunited?
“Ye must take them with ye, Citrine,” her sister said quietly, closing her hands over the top of the box. “Ye have been the driving force behind this mission, so ’tis up to ye to keep these jewels safe until ye find the last two.”
Citrine’s lips curved upward at the thought. “Aye,” she whispered hoarsely. “Aye.” She placed one hand atop Pearl’s. “The pearl and the citrine are still missing, ye ken.”
Pearl returned her smile. “I ken it. And I trust ye to find them, so that I can pass on the story to my daughter.”
“I swear it,” Citrine whispered. “I want yer bairns—and Saffy’s and Agata’s—to ken the power of the Sinclair jewels.”
“Oh…” Pearl smiled and pulled her hand from the box to place over her heart. “I suspect they do.”
The Sinclair Jewels.
Aye, her nieces and nephews, those by marriage—thinking of Callan and Merrick’s brood—and those yet to be born…they would all ken of the Sinclair Jewels, their mothers.
“Go,” Pearl said with a wink. “Prove to Da that the Sinclair name is still important and powerful, for all that he only has daughters.”
“Aye.” With a quick nod, Citrine pushed the box into a leather bag she could sling from her shoulder. “And ye swear to me ye’ll keep Da safe. Yer Hound is no’ to let him eat anything Dougal offers.”
Pearl’s expression had turned solemn once more. “I donae think Gregor believes Dougal is a threat—the man has been Gregor’s commander for many years, ye ken. But if I ask for his pledge, I believe he’ll understand the urgency.”
“Good.”
Mayhap Dougal wasn’t a threat. Mayhap Da’s stomach ailment hadn’t been poison at all. Or mayhap it had, but there was another unseen enemy lurking while Citrine focused on the commander.
Quietly, she cursed under her breath. If there was another enemy, this wasn’t the time for her to be leaving her father to go gallivanting to the other side of the country.
But she’d be back. She slung the bag over her shoulder, the vow repeating in her heart.
I will return.
She glanced around the room, the chamber she and her sisters had shared for so many years. It had been the lady’s chambers, but their long-dead mother had preferred to share Da’s bedchamber. There was Saffy’s favorite window seat, and the wooden headboard decorated with ornate ivy leaves Agata had painted one winter. There was the brick inside the hearth with the carved eye Pearl had always thought was frightening, and the wooden stool with the embroidered cushion Citrine had tripped over five years before and broken her ankle.
This was her home.
I will return.
Pearl pulled her in for another hug. “Good luck, dear sister.”
Citrine hugged her back. “I love ye.”
They traveled overland to Wick, and Citrine was forced to grit her teeth at the wagon’s slow pace. She would’ve been much happier with the clothing and food she could stuff in a saddlebag, but Da would’ve been suspicious. In fact, she was even forced to wear one of the long, confining gowns he’d deemed suitable for marriage to the son of a powerful chieftain.
Bah.
At Wick, Citrine waited demurely with the wagon while William went to negotiate passage with a merchant vessel traveling north past Stroma, then west through the Minch to Lewes. It was galling, but much faster than traveling by land, especially through the MacKay lands.
When everything was arranged, Citrine oversaw the loading of her bags onto the birlinn, and even managed a smile as she said her goodbye to the Sinclairs.
I’ll see ye soon.
William was the only one to stay with her. Da would’ve sent more men, but surprisingly, it was Dougal who spoke in her favor.
“She’s a capable warrior,” he’d said. “She can protect herself, but William will go along to help.”
Citrine had peered suspiciously at the commander, surprised to hear him say anything complementary about her talent with a sword, but appreciative. Come to think of it, he’d always been in support of her marriage to a MacLeod…mayhap he was just anxious to get her on her way.
The first few hours at sea were exciting. The smells of the pitch mixed with the salt air and the bundles of wool wrapped in the space beneath the sailors’ benches, soon became less than exotic. While the sails were down, the men lounged and told jokes, and after the wind died, they sang as they rowed.
William seemed right at home among them, even placing his small chest under a bench and taking his place at the oars. He was a likable sort of fellow, and Citrine was grateful he’d made friends, so he wouldn’t be forced to only converse with her.
But it meant she knew no one, and after the novelty of sea travel wore off, she was bored.
Part of her was tempted to hike up her skirts and practice sparring with an imaginary opponent, even if her sword was buried deep in her trunk. But the knowledge that these sailors would undoubtably relate her conduct to the MacLeods of Lewes stayed her hand.
It wasn’t that she cared what they thought, nay. But if they had no knowledge of her skills, they’d likely underestimate her. And she could use that.
So, she sat silently on one of her trunks under an awning in the rear of the boat. She’d kicked off her boots to better appreciate the roll of the deck beneath her, but with her gown draping elegantly to her feet, no one could see they were bare.
The captain—a slender man with a long, brown beard by the name of Angus Sinclair—sat near her and did his best to make polite conversation. It was clear he was more comfortable with the rough sailors but was trying to treat her the way a lady ought to be treated. He kept calling her Lady Sinclair and mentioning what an honor it was to carry one of the Sinclair Jewels on his vessel.
She managed not to roll her eyes at him.
By the second day, she’d exhausted all of her questions and had learned more than she’d ever have thought about sailing a ship. The captain finally went back to his men and William.
Each night, the boat pulled ashore near a trading town, and they erected an elaborate camp for her. Despite her training, she rarely had to sleep out of doors, but discovered she still enjoyed it.
By the fourth day, Citrine was b
ored beyond measure. She’d even considered embroidery to pass the time, by the Virgin!
God’s Wounds, send some excitement! Even another sea shanty!
In fact, a song would be interesting…she’d almost learned all of the verses to that one the men were singing yesterday about the lass with the loose bodice tie. She’d given up caring what the men would think of her bare feet, and had the gown hiked up to her calves to enjoy the cooler air while she watched the clouds chase each other over the cross spar.
She needed some kind of excitement! Any kind!
My midafternoon, it seemed as if she’d get her wish.
A sailor scurried over to the captain, pointing and speaking in a low tone. It was then that Citrine realized the feeling on the boat had changed; the men were no longer joking but sat straighter and seemed more alert. A few of them were fingering weapons and several were stealing glances to the left of the ship, where the mainland could occasionally be seen.
What is it?
It was a while before she could see the other ship, and another few minutes to realize that was what had everyone so distressed. Why? They’d seen a few merchant vessels on their voyage so far…isn’t that what this was?
Like the sailors, she found herself watching the other ship closely, her fingers curling into the silk of her fine, green gown.
When the other ship changed directions and seemed to turn toward them, the captain wasn’t the only one who cursed—some louder than others—and began to mutter.
Citrine caught the word pirates.
She glanced at William and was surprised to see him staring at her thoughtfully. Thinking he was concerned for her, she gave him a quick nod to show him she would be fine. His lips curled up ever so slightly as he turned back to the approaching birlinn.
“Make ready! Weapons out, lads!” the captain called, reaching for his own sword. “If they mean to take us, they’ll have a fight on their hands!”
It wasn’t until that moment that Citrine truly understood what would happen.
The MacLeod Pirate Page 3
