Highland Heartbreakers: Highlander Series Starters, Volume One

by Paula Quinn

  Gregor swallowed, knowing he deserved whatever punishment the laird saw fit to mete out. Still, he would never regret the time he’d spent with Pearl. Being with her…had been worth losing his honor. He’d made the choice to betray his laird, and that glimpse at perfection would stay with him for the remainder of his days, no matter what was coming.

  In fact, following behind Pearl as she ascended the stairs only reminded Gregor of what they’d shared. The hips which swayed so gently under her long skirts were just this morning pressed against him, and last night had bucked under his fingers.

  The memory would be enough. Thank God he’d been able to control himself and go no further, no matter how much he’d ached.

  At the landing, she stepped toward her father’s solar, but turned briefly to glance over her shoulder at Gregor. In those pearl-grey eyes, he saw sorrow, but also determination. He wanted to reach for her, to tell her everything would be fine and she’d be able to stay on Sinclair lands as she longed to do…but he knew he couldn’t make that promise.

  When he stepped into the solar, Gregor closed the heavy oak door and stood in front of it, his arms crossed, waiting his laird’s words. This was his place. He was the Sinclair’s Hound.

  Duncan Sinclair moved behind his desk, but didn’t sit in his large chair. Instead, he stared down at the fire in the hearth, his hands behind his back, as if considering something important. Pearl stopped before his desk, her head held high.

  She looked ready to face her fate, and despite knowing he had no claim on her, no reason to feel that way, Gregor was proud of her.

  When the laird turned, his eyes lingered on his daughter, then rested on Gregor. “How fares yer injury? Yer shoulder, was it?”

  Surprised at the man’s concern, Gregor nodded. “’Tis healing.”

  Sinclair grunted. “Thanks to Pearl, I’m guessing? She’s kens her way around a wound—has spent long enough caring for injuries in the village and farms.”

  Unsure now what the man was thinking, Gregor’s “Aye” was hesitant.

  The laird might’ve said more, but Pearl, obviously unwilling to be ignored, spoke up. “I do care for the people of the village and the farms, Da. I care for this clan.” She took a deep breath. “I will not marry Sutherland.”

  “Aye, ye said that afore,” her father answered neutrally. “Ye were determined to become a nun, to take holy vows.” When Pearl flushed, he continued, “Are ye still of the same mind?”

  “Nay,” she answered quietly, her chin dipping just slightly. “I will always regret it took the deaths of two good men afore I was willing to admit how foolish I was.”

  The older man paused for a moment, then hummed. “So ye willnae marry Christ, and ye willnae marry the laird yer father chose for ye.”

  “Nay—aye, I mean. I belong here. I will stay here.”

  Duncan Sinclair dropped his hands to the desk in front of him and leaned slightly. “An’ I will have all my jewels spoken for. The gossip of leaving one of my girls unmarried, unmatched with a good man…” He shook his head as he trailed off.

  But Pearl scoffed. “Gossip?” She turned just enough to rest her look on Gregor. “I donae—I donae need to be married.”

  What was she telling him? That she was willing to stay at home, unmarried, forever? Did she expect him to come to her, to be with her, if she remained? Gregor’s jaw hardened. He already knew it would be a living hell to have her here in the keep unclaimed for the rest of her life…but now to see the clear hope in her eyes when she looked at him?

  Mayhap Gregor should start praying the Sinclair did pull his sword and run him through for his crimes. That way, he wouldn’t have to live with her temptation.

  The old man’s eyes were flicking between the two of them. He cleared his throat. “Ye do need to be married, wee Pearl. ’Tis why I’ve made so many alliances this year. I need to ken all my daughters are married to good men, in case—Well, it doesnae matter. But I need to ken ye’re safe.”

  “Can’t I be safe here?” she asked in a small voice. “I donae want to go away.”

  Sighing, the old man scrubbed a hand over his face. “What do ye want, wee Pearl?”

  Her head jerked back, as if surprised. Had he never asked her that afore? She opened her mouth, but her father waved a hand to interrupt her.

  “I ken, ye want to stay on Sinclair land. I mean, if yer laird and father demands ye belong to another man, a good man, to keep ye safe…what compromise do ye suggest?”

  Pearl’s eyes flicked toward Gregor, but focused on her father once more. She bit her lip, obviously considering his words. Then she took a deep breath.

  “I want…I want to be useful. Here. I donae want to be the lady of a keep far away. The Sinclairs are my people, and I love them. If ye say I have to be married, then…” Her breath exploded out of her, as if she was confessing something secret. “Then I’d want to ken my husband is here, too, working beside me. I want a simple life, Da. I want a cottage and laughter and kenning I’m useful. I want my people to ken they can call on me, and I’ll still be there for them. I’m no’ afraid of working hard, an’ I want a husband who loves me for it.”

  She met Gregor’s eyes once more, and he felt his throat close up again. Not the way it did in his nightmares, remembering his near-death, but the way it’d done once or twice since she’d begun to really see him. Everything she just said sounded beautiful to him. She deserved riches and velvets and fine wines and roasts, but if she’d be happy with simplicity and ales and mutton, might she be happy with him?

  The Sinclair hummed again, thoughtfully, as he looked between the two of them. His eyes settled on Gregor. “And ye?”

  Gregor’s attention snapped back to the older man, unsure what he meant. One brow rose, in his old way of communicating. The Sinclair understood and clarified.

  “What do ye want?”

  He didn’t hesitate in answering. “I want to be useful,” he rasped. “To serve ye. To repay ye.”

  I want to never give ye reason to doubt my loyalty.

  As if he heard the unspoken words, Duncan Sinclair moved from around the desk. When he gestured Gregor forward, the younger man moved from his spot in front of the door to stand beside Pearl.

  Where he belonged.

  The Sinclair looked between the two of them. When his eyes settled on Gregor once more, they were contemplative. “Do ye remember what I said to ye, that day I saved yer life?”

  As if every moment of that day wasn’t seared into Gregor’s memory. He dipped his chin. “Aye.”

  The older man watched a moment more, as if not sure Gregor was telling the truth, then switched his attention to his daughter. “Laird Sutherland caught him stealing a sheep, ye ken. There’d been a group of reavers preying on his shepherds, an’ we were out huntin’ when we caught this one with the animal slung over his back.”

  Pearl’s chin went up. “I ken,” she snapped.

  Her father’s brows rose. “Do ye, now?” He seemed surprised Gregor had shared the information, but shrugged and continued. “Sutherland chased him down, released the animal, and passed judgement on the boy. It was his right as laird, of course, an’ he needed to show his people he was delivering justice.”

  This time, Pearl didn’t seem as eager to agree. “I ken.”

  Gregor approved. She was finally understanding who he was. Who he’d been. A criminal. A thief who didn’t deserve her pity.

  “So, Sutherland strung him up, an’ we stayed to watch him die.”

  She was beginning to look ill. “Da…”

  But her father didn’t stop. “We were sitting there on our horses, watching the lad strangle, and I saw his bony legs kickin’ an’ his skinny arms scrabbling at that rope, and I kenned he’d only been reavin’ because he was desperate.”

  Aye, that had been the case. After Mam’s death, Gregor’s father had shown up, full of stories of riches and meat and women. But after a winter starving in a cave, being kicked and punched just for the hell o
f it, Gregor had lost all naivete. That sheep, the one which had nearly been his death, would’ve been his first meat in almost a month.

  “He was big, aye, but hungry. And hungry men do desperate things.” The Sinclair’s eyes turned back to Gregor. “So, I rode up to him an’ cut him down. Sutherland objected, but I told him ye were my responsibility. Do ye remember my words to ye when ye woke?”

  Aye. “Ye told me I was yers, an’ would be forever.”

  The laird nodded. “I told ye yer life belonged to me, an’ I could do what I wanted with it. Ye remember what I said next? I told ye I’d chosen to make ye a good man. An’ how did I do that?”

  Gregor swallowed. “Ye gave me yer knife. Told me ye trusted me,” he whispered.

  “Aye, I trusted ye to make the right choice. To be loyal to the man who’d saved yer life.”

  Closing his eyes so his laird didn’t see the truth, Gregor swallowed his shudder. He owed this man everything, and how had he repaid him?

  By falling in love with his daughter.

  “Well, my Hound?” Dunclan Sinclair asked in a low voice.

  Hound.

  His eyes flew open once more.

  My Hound.

  That was who Gregor was. He dropped to a crouch long enough to pull the knife from his boot. The knife which hadn’t left his side for a decade. The knife which had saved his life more than once.

  He straightened and flipped it around, offering it hilt-first to the Sinclair.

  The older man glanced down at it. His nostrils flared. “Ye’re giving it back?”

  “I’ve broken yer trust,” Gregor rasped.

  The laird cocked his head as he studied Gregor. “Have ye? Have ye followed me, followed my orders, for nigh on ten years?”

  Unsure now, Gregor nodded.

  “An’ have ye been loyal to me, protecting me from harm and ensurin’ my family was safe?”

  That was what he’d lived for. Gregor nodded again.

  “An’ have ye lived up to my trust an’ become a good man? A decent man, no’ a villain, who can hold his head up an’ have a place in a clan? A good man, who his people cheer as a hero?”

  Gregor’s jaw flexed as emotion clawed its way up his already-tight throat. He’d had all that, before this journey. But all he managed was, “I’m no’ a hero.”

  “But ye’re a good man.”

  Not even bothering to hide it, Gregor turned to look at Pearl. She was staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, and he hated to disappoint her, but he shook his head.

  “I thought I was.”

  He had been a good man, until he had to choose between his honor and the woman he loved.

  “Ye’ve been with my daughter for a fortnight. I’ve seen the way ye’ve looked at her, over the years, ye ken.”

  Gregor’s gaze slammed back into the older man’s. He’d seen what, exactly?

  The laird’s chin dropped. “Ye look at her like ye want to make her yers. But she’s one of my jewels, lad. So, I have to ken the truth. Ye’ve been with her for near a fortnight, an’ alone for a sennight.” He paused, then pushed on. “Did ye touch her?”

  This was it. Gregor took a breath. “Aye.”

  “Nay!” Pearl cut in frantically. “I mean, aye, but he took naught which wasn’t offered, Da!”

  Without dropping the older man’s gaze, Gregor slipped the knife into his belt and held out his hand toward her. He didn’t want her to draw her father’s anger; he wanted the blame laid solely on his own strong shoulders.

  She followed his unspoken command to stay silent, but she wrapped both hands around his, twining her fingers through his. He couldn’t help it; he gave her hands a little squeeze, and was gratified when she squeezed back. She was letting him know she was there for him, supporting him.

  It was more than someone like him should’ve dreamed of. He inhaled deeply, fortified by her strength.

  “I took naught at all, laird. I only gave.”

  Pearl was still a virgin, because although it had damn near killed him, Gregor had been able to control himself. He still had enough honor for that.

  He was still a good man.

  His chin came up at the same time the Sinclair seemed to reach the same conclusion, judging by the flicker of respect in the older man’s eyes.

  “And do ye love her?”

  There was no hesitation this time. “Aye,” Gregor rasped.

  Beside him, Pearl sucked in a breath. “Nay!” she whispered. Then, “Ye do?”

  He held the laird’s gaze a moment longer, but when the old man didn’t seem inclined to respond, Gregor gave his attention once more to the woman beside him.

  “Aye, lady,” he said. “’Tis impossible no’ to.”

  “No’ to love me?”

  She sounded dazed. Her eyes were wide, staring at him as if he had two heads. Was his confession so unusual?

  He inclined his head in agreement.

  “Ye love me?” she repeated again.

  “More than I have any right to.”

  Instead of answering him, instead of giving him any indication she felt the same way, or thought he was crazy for daring to love her, Pearl gave what he could only describe as a squeal, and dropped her hold on his hand long enough to throw her arms around him. Instinctively, he wrapped her in his embrace, and as she buried her face against his chest, he pressed his cheek to her hair.

  Neither seemed to care her father was watching them.

  She mumbled something against the swatch of plaid across his chest, so he loosened his hold on her just slightly.

  “Aye, lass?”

  She didn’t release him, but only tilted her head enough to smile up at him. Her smile was bright enough to light the night sky, even if there were tears in her eyes.

  “I said, I love ye, too, Gregor. I’ve been fascinated by ye for a long while, and being with ye this last fortnight has shown me what a good man ye are. I love ye, I do.”

  I love ye.

  When she’d told her father what she wanted in life, and it had so closely matched his own dream, a feeling of joy had stolen over Gregor. With her words, the feeling multiplied a hundred-fold.

  I love ye.

  He released her long enough to cup her cheeks. He wanted to lower his lips to hers, wanted to show her how much she meant to him. But…

  But they were standing in his laird’s solar, the old man watching them. Her father. Instead of showing his hope and joy at her words with a kiss, Gregor bent and pressed his forehead to hers.

  When she squeezed her eyes shut, he knew she was praying, the same as he was, that there was some way to make this work.

  By the desk, Duncan Sinclair cleared his throat.

  Gregor was reluctant to let her go, but he had to. He owed this man everything, including his respect. He straightened and faced his laird, but snaked one arm around Pearl’s shoulders, tucking her against his side. He was loyal to the Sinclair, but he’d fight for the chance to love Pearl, if need be.

  But the older man just stood there, his arms folded across his chest, looking from one to the other. Finally, he sighed, and his lips twitched under his beard.

  “Well, I guess there’s only one course o’ action.”

  Under his arm, Pearl stiffened. He felt her small hand come to rest on his chest, but he didn’t drop the laird’s gaze.

  “Hound, ye’ve served me well these last ten years or more. Ye’ve become everything I’d hoped, the day I saved yer scrawny arse. Ye follow orders an’ are my loyal guard.”

  Was he going to order Gregor to do something he couldn’t fathom?

  God in Heaven, let me stay with Pearl.

  The older man nodded. “But it’s time ye moved past yer position as my Hound, lad. Take yer spot among the clan—yer clan. Take the cottage I’ve offered ye, make a home.”

  Gregor’s eyes widened, and he heard Pearl taking shallow breaths beside him. A home? His clan? The laird was ordering him to…to truly become a Sinclair?

  “An’ in or
der to make a home, ye need a wife.” Duncan gestured to his youngest daughter. “My wee Pearl here is stubborn and opinionated, but she’s a good woman. Marry her and make me a grandfather soon, aye?”

  Pearl sucked in a startled gasp so fast she began to cough. For his part, Gregor just stared at the older man.

  Marry Pearl.

  Marry Pearl, make her his wife. Wake up every morning with her pressed against him. Spend every meal listening to her chatter on about whatever she’d done, whoever she’d helped that day. Watch her grow round with his child, provide for her for the rest of their lives.

  It was beyond his wildest dreams.

  “Well, lad?” the Sinclair prompted.

  Gregor shook his head, trying to clear it of disbelief. Marry Pearl?

  He tilted his head, meeting her eyes. She’d quit coughing, but both hands covered her mouth and her face was flushed. She was either choking to death, or reacting to her father’s words.

  He cocked a brow, knowing she would understand his question. Did she want this as much as he did? Or would marriage to him just mean a burden, one more thing her father forced on her?

  But when she dropped her hands to poke him in the side, he saw her smile.

  “Ye have to do it proper, Gregor! Use my name.”

  “Are ye goin’ to spend the rest of our lives bossing me around, lady?”

  She tightened her lips to hide her grin, as if he couldn’t see it dancing in her eyes. “Only if ye donae get it right the first time!”

  His sigh was overly dramatic as he grabbed her free hand and raised it to his lips.

  “Pearl, my love,” he rasped, “I’m a loyal Sinclair, an’ my laird has ordered me to marry ye.”

  She stifled the urge to giggle. “And being loyal, ye’re duty-bound to follow his orders.” Her sigh echoed his. “Despite how happy ye may be elsewhere?”

  Was that…hesitation he saw lurking in her expression, and in her tone?

  He turned so that he could fully wrap her in his arms. “Aye, I’m loyal, but this order gives me great joy. So, I must beg a boon o’ ye for a change. Marry me, Pearl, so I can spend the rest of my life showin’ ye how much I love ye.”