by Paula Quinn
After what he’d just shown her, she couldn’t stand the thought of him being unhappy. The way he’d touched her, the way he’d held her…
“Gregor,” she said softly, staring into his dark eyes, willing him to understand what the last few minutes had meant to her. “Will ye tell me?”
He closed his eyes on a soft hiss, but didn’t let go of her hand. She felt him swallow, and prayed she’d finally learn what made him so hesitant. What he’d just done for her had been wonderful, but he’d had to fight his instincts, she could tell.
When her sisters had whispered about pleasure or the way men’s bodies were built, Pearl hadn’t understood. Oh, certainly, she’d touched herself in private, but this? She’d had no idea she could…could…
Could shatter that way.
And it hadn’t just been his mouth or fingers. She’d come undone because it had been Gregor. This kind, handsome, loyal man had chosen her to be the one to share that with, and even though it had taken her asking, he had.
Sprawled in the bed, her pulse finally slowed and she felt boneless—like liquid. When she’d shattered, she could feel it over every inch of her skin.
She splayed her fingers across her belly, imagining she could still feel her skin humming beneath the linen, and smiled.
When he opened his eyes, he caught her smile. He stared at her lips for a long while, carefully breathing. How close had he come to losing control? Pearl remembered the delicious feel of his hard length under his kilt, and her fingers twitched at the idea that it might still be there. He’d stopped her from offering him pleasure.
For now, she suspected what he would tell her was more important.
“My father was a thief. Like the ones…”
The ones who’d killed their friends. Her smile dropped, and she nodded to let him know she understood.
“I rode wi’ him after Mam died. Was in my blood.”
“Nay.” She lifted her head off the pillow. “Nay, ye’re a good man, Gregor.”
He shook his head and held her palm against his skin as if it was a lifeline. “I was reaving on Sutherland land, an’ he caught me.”
She sucked in a breath. “Laird Sutherland?”
“Aye,” he whispered. “He hanged me for stealing sheep. Yer father was wi’ him.”
Nay.
She shook her head, falling back on the pillow. Her fingers were curled around her linen shift, pulling at the material as if it would make this different.
“Sutherland strung me from a birch,” Gregor said. His eyes were on her, but they were focused many miles away. “It felt like they watched for hours.”
Da did? Her father wouldn’t have allowed that suffering!
But if the punishment for stealing was death, was the hanging justified? Her fingers curled closer to his skin, imagining Gregor gasping for air, clawing at his throat as he swung.
“How old were ye?” she asked.
“Sixteen, mayhap. Old enough to suffer a man’s punishment.”
“Nay.” She shook her head again, willing him to tell her it was a lie. He was a good man.
His beautiful eyes changed. Now she saw…sorrow? Was he sorry for what he was telling her, or for her reaction?
“I woke up, a surprise to be sure. Yer father had saved me, an’ I’ve been his man since.”
“How long ago?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “More than ten years. I owe him my life, Pearl.”
She was the laird’s daughter, aye, which would’ve made such a match difficult. But no matter what feelings Gregor might or might not have for her, he was loyal to her father first. He’d see what passed between the two of them as a betrayal.
But he’d done it, because she’d asked him to.
Abruptly, her eyes filled with tears as she realized the truth.
He’d given up his honor for her.
This man, this good man, had changed so much in the last decade. He’d gone from a criminal, punished and half-dead, to a well-respected member of a Highland guard. But he still thought he was that boy, the son of a bandit who knew no better.
And when he saw her tears, he misunderstood. “Aye,” he whispered, nodding. “Now ye ken. Why I shouldnae have touched ye.” His gaze was intense. “Or let myself fall—”
When he clamped his lips shut, she wondered what he’d been about to say. Fall?
But it didn’t seem as important as correcting his misinterpretation. She lifted her other hand to cup his cheek, even though it meant rolling halfway over in the small bed. Pressing her palms to his skin—and making sure she could feel his scar under his jaw—she met his gaze, not bothering to hide the tears in hers.
“I am so, so sorry, Gregor. I shouldnae have asked. Ye are a good man, and I took that from ye.”
“Ye took naught,” he said. “I’m not worthy of looking at ye, much less holding ye.”
Still, that didn’t stop him from releasing her hand and placing his on the curve of her hip. She wondered if he’d realized he’d done it. It was a small act, but one which managed to make her heart happy and sad at once.
So, she made sure to make her feelings clear. “Ye are, Gregor. Ye are worthy. Kind, loyal, and brave. My father values ye…and I value ye, more than I can express.”
He closed his eyes on her words, but turned his head just slightly so he pressed his jaw into her palm.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered.
Aye, tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d return to the keep. Tomorrow she’d have to stand in front of her father and explain what had happened, and how she was at fault. Tomorrow she’d have to find words to explain she would not enter a nunnery and would not leave her home to marry Laird Sutherland, especially now that she knew what he’d done to Gregor.
But she wouldn’t be able to tell her father what she actually wanted for her life. She wanted a small cottage among her people and the chance to help them. She wanted a good man to share her life with, to make her feel special, to love her.
She wanted Gregor, and she couldn’t have him. Because she would not be the one to cause him to lose even further regard for himself. He already didn’t see his own goodness. He’d never shaken the idea that he was a villain, and ignored everything he’d accomplished in the last ten years. By asking him to kiss her, to touch her, she’d forced him to choose between her and his loyalty to her father, and it was tearing him up inside.
She wanted him, aye, but she didn’t deserve someone as selfless as him. Someone who’d chosen to satisfy her over his own honor.
Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “So sorry.”
He hissed something which might’ve been a curse, but then pulled her into his arms again. Knowing she was torturing herself with what she couldn’t have, she pressed her face into the bend of his neck and breathed in his scent. He shifted so he was lying completely on his side, both arms around her, one hand rubbing small circles on her back.
She cried for him and what he’d been through. She cried for herself and what she’d never have. And when he dropped a small kiss to her shoulder, she cried for the pleasure and joy he’d brought her, which she’d never experience again.
And when exhaustion finally overtook her and she fell into a deep sleep, she dreamed of being held by him forever.
Waking stretched out beside him, his arm cradling her and the bulge of his manhood pressed against her bottom, was even better. She knew if she had her way, she’d wake thusly for the rest of her life.
But it wasn’t to be. He had his honor, and she had her memories, and that would have to be enough.
The journey home was made mostly in silence.
As they passed through the village and approached the Sinclair keep, a high-pitched whistle cut through the nervous pulse pounding in Pearl’s ears. She tightened her hold on Gregor as he lifted his fist in the traditional greeting, and she heard distant bellows of “The Hound has returned! Fetch the laird!”
Under her hands, Gregor tensed, and she knew h
e was thinking the same as she. The stares and calls they’d experienced as they’d trotted through the village were nothing compared to what was about to come. Her time of reckoning was here, and she couldn’t afford to waver.
The bailey was bustling with people, running to check on the commotion. As they recognized her skirts behind the mass of Sinclair plaid before her, many broke into cheers or prayer.
“Lady Pearl is safe!”
“Thank the Lord!”
“The Hound has brought her back to us!”
“Bless ye, sir!”
Pearl felt tears stinging her eyes as she reached out to touch the hands which stretched for her. It was more of the same from the village. These were people who loved her for who she was, not who her father was. Seeing them surrounding the horse, feeling their outpouring of love, Pearl knew she couldn’t leave them again.
When they reached the steps, where she’d said goodbye to her sisters only a fortnight ago—how much had changed since then! Gregor swung down off the horse, then reached up to lift her. His hands didn’t linger, but that same heat she’d felt earlier, crept up her body from his touch.
Together, they turned to face the stairs, just as Saffy barreled into her. Pearl instinctively wrapped her arms around her sister and squeezed, even though they both stumbled back toward Gregor, who put his hands on her shoulders to steady them.
“Thank the Lord ye’re safe, Pearl! Last night, when the messenger came…” Saffy buried her head in Pearl’s shoulder. “We’ve been so worried!”
It seemed as if everyone was talking—or shouting at once—but Pearl focused on her sister. “What message? Where’s Da and our sisters?”
Sniffling, Saffy lifted her face, her bright blue eyes swimming with tears even as her smile grew. “Citrine is training, and Agata was called back to the Mackenzies. But we’ll send a messenger to them to let her ken ye’re safe. And home! Are ye staying this time?”
“The Mackenzies? What…?” Pearl twisted to look at Gregor, who seemed to remember himself and dropped his hands. “Do ye ken what she means?”
He shook his head, as if being home had caused him to revert back to his old self.
“Pearl!”
At her father’s bellow, she squirmed out of her sister’s arms to move to her father. His hug was as strong as a bear, and in the moment his arms wrapped around her, Pearl felt her knees go weak with relief. She inhaled deeply, her father’s smell of wool and leather bringing her the comfort she’d always felt in his arms.
She was home.
“Pearl, wee jewel, I’ve been so afraid for ye,” he muttered against her hair.
She pulled back slightly. “What is it, Da? I thought ye didnae expect—”
He tutted before she could mention the nunnery again, and held her by her shoulders at arms’ length.
“Last eve a messenger came from William an’ the Campbells. He told us about the attack on ye, an’ yer escape, although he didnae ken if ye’d made it.”
The sense of liberation which slammed into her had her twisting in her father’s arms to meet Gregor’s eyes. “Did ye hear? William is alive!” she called with a big smile. “An’ Fergus?” she asked while turning back to her father. “Is he alive?”
Her father’s face was grim when he shook his head. “The messenger told us both Fergus and Mungo were buried in their churchyard, an’ William is recuperating from a wound.”
Instinctively, Pearl bowed her head to say a prayer for the souls of both men. She’d known they were gone, she’d known it, but hearing of William’s survival had given her hope.
Dear Lord, bring them eternal peace an’ the honor they deserve.
“They were heroes,” she said in a choked voice.
“Aye,” Da said in that booming voice of his. “An’ they’ll be remembered as such. But the messenger arrived yesterday. Did ye linger?”
She glanced up to see him glaring at Gregor, and when she turned, she saw the younger man’s silent nod.
Her father growled. “Even though ye kenned I’d be desperate to ken my daughter was safe?”
Gregor nodded again, and Da’s eyes darted between him and Pearl, the irritation turning to suspicion.
Pearl slipped from under his grip and moved to stand between the two men. Part of her knew she couldn’t protect Gregor—and didn’t need to—but she also wanted her father to know why they hadn’t arrived yesterday.
“’Twas my fault,” she blurted. “With only the one horse, we didn’t want to push. An’ he—the Hound—has been verra caring. I mean, kind. He cared for—he took care of me.” She managed not to wince at the mess she’d made of that explanation, even while congratulating herself on remembering to call him by the name her father called him.
Unfortunately, her father’s eyes narrowed. “What happened? Report.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but realized he was glaring over her shoulder at Gregor, who stepped up beside her and tapped his fist to his chest as he inclined his head slightly.
“After we entered Campbell land, we were followed. On alert, but bandits overwhelmed us.”
As he spoke, whispers spread through the bailey, and Pearl heard her sister gasp in surprise. She remembered how she had never heard Gregor speak prior to their journey, and here it was, reporting to Da, who didn’t seem surprised.
He continued in his raspy voice. “On foot, mounted, an’ archers. Mungo took an arrow to the throat, William was firing.” His expression was stoic, as if relating the terrifying battle was naught more than his daily routine. “I was closest to the lady. Fergus was unmounted an’ swinging, when she…”
For the first time, he hesitated, glancing at Pearl. Was he not sure what she wanted her father to know? She straightened her shoulders. He needed to know everything.
“I was terrified, Da,” she took up the story in a low voice. “I ran, but my horse floundered. I heard Fergus tell the Hound to go after me, and he did. We rode west as far as we could, until he was sure they wouldn’t be able to catch us, then we turned north again.”
Her father’s nod told her he wasn’t surprised that the horror of the attack had caused her to give up on her plan and return home. There was so much more she needed to explain, but for now, she raised her voice to make sure her clan could hear her sorrow.
“Mungo and Fergus died heroes. Mungo’s horse was beside my own when he went down, and Fergus’s last act was to ensure I—we had the time to escape.” She felt her throat closing up at the thought of that brave man. “He kenned Gregor could save me, an’ he was right. I would’ve died—or worse—had it not been for his quick wits and bravery.” She was quick to point to Gregor’s shoulder. “He was wounded, shot while shielding me from the bandits’ arrows. ’Tis thanks to him—to all of them—that I am alive.”
There. She’d stood in front of her clan and praised her guards, Gregor in particular, for their actions. It was as it should be. She hadn’t singled him out for special treatment, hadn’t praised him overmuch. No one would suspect how deeply she’d come to care for him.
Except her father.
The older man’s eyes narrowed again. “‘Gregor’, eh?”
Drat.
His suspicious gaze flashed between them. “Do ye have something more to tell me?”
Pearl glanced at Gregor, but he was staring straight ahead, wearing that mask he’d always worn when he was being a guard rather than a man.
She could deny it. She could claim she was exhausted and overwrought and retire to her room with Saffy, where she could demand absolutely every detail of what had happened with the Mackenzies. But in return, Pearl would probably have to tell her older sisters about what had transpired on her journey, and the way Gregor had made her feel.
Aye, she could do that, and no one would think aught of it.
But eventually, she’d have to tell her father of her resolve to stay home, and try to come to an agreement.
With her attention on Gregor, handsome even without his exp
ressive eyes on her, Pearl took a deep breath.
Better to get it over with.
She straightened her shoulders and met her father’s eyes. “Aye, Da. I have plenty more to tell ye.”
Chapter Eleven
When the Sinclair frowned and demanded they follow him to his solar, Gregor handed his horse off to a lad, then followed them inside. Around him, the clan whispered and muttered, trying to guess at what had transpired on their journey. Pearl’s words, her version of the story, had painted the men as heroic, but her father wasn’t the only one who’d noticed she’d used Gregor’s name.
Hell, most of the people probably didn’t even know he had a name, besides “Hound.”
Before he stepped into the keep, he turned to sweep his gaze over the gathered crowd. To his surprise, more than a few people erupted into cheers and clapping. Gregor blinked, realizing they were still thankful for him bringing Pearl back home. They’d heard her words and…what? And thought him a hero?
He lifted one hand hesitantly in acknowledgement, and the cheering grew.
They thought he was a hero. Him.
For ten years, he’d been the Sinclair Hound, silent and intimidating, guarding their laird. Gregor knew some of the men down there, men he’d trained or trained with, but none had ever asked his name or called him friend. But now…now they were cheering him, as if he was one of them, and they were proud of that fact. They were acting as if he belonged.
So, he was in a more thoughtful frame of mind as he crossed the great hall, nodding once to Dougal, before following Pearl up the stone steps.
Seeing his commander reminded Gregor of his relief at knowing young William was still alive. Fergus and Mungo’s deaths were to be mourned, but it was a miracle that the archer was still breathing. Gregor assumed he’d be transferred north to Sinclair lands once the Campbell healer deemed him safe to travel.
For now, Gregor needed to focus on what lay ahead. Despite the clan’s cheering for him, and that unexpected feeling of camaraderie, there was a very real chance Gregor would be banished from Sinclair lands once the laird discovered what had passed between his Hound and his daughter. That is, if the Sinclair didn’t finish what Sutherland had started all those years ago, and kill him outright.
