The Sinner

by Margaret Mallory

  “At least I like the women I bed. I even talk to them—something ye might try,” Alex said. “Do ye ever speak to your mistress, other than to say ‘pass the fish’ and ‘take your clothes off’?”

  “Time to lower the sails, lads,” Duncan called out to the other men. “Take an oar.”

  Unfortunately, they couldn’t arrive at Shaggy’s in the boat they stole from him, so they were sailing one of the war galleys. Though it was large enough to carry fifty warriors, Connor had been able to spare only the eighteen needed to man the oars.

  “I expect Rhona believes that behind all that silence you’re thinking deep thoughts about her,” Alex said, as he leaned on the rudder. “You’ve had her in your bed for months, and yet ye wouldn’t care if she left tomorrow, would ye?”

  “I don’t mind her.” Duncan shrugged. “We meet each other’s needs, and she doesn’t cause a fuss like your women do.”

  “Meet each other’s needs.” Alex snorted. “That sounds like a fine time.”

  “Rest your oars,” Duncan called out, and they glided into shore below the castle.

  * * *

  Alex was already bored listening to the men who were gathered in the castle courtyard. As always, there was a lot of pointless talk about returning to the glory days when half the Highlands answered to the Lord of the Isles, rather than to the King of Scotland.

  For a hundred and fifty years, the Lord of the Isles had been the leader of all the branches of the Clan MacDonald and their vassals, which had included the Macleans, the MacLeods, the MacNeils, and the rest. Under the Lordship, the clans had followed old Celtic law and customs. That part had not changed much—they still ignored Scottish law and directives from the church in Rome, except when convenient.

  But it had been more than twenty years since the Lord of the Isles had been forced to submit to the crown. Without a single leader, the clans fought among themselves all the time. That did not, however, keep them from rising against the Crown again and again.

  “We’ll burn Inverness!” one young man shouted, clenching his fist in the air.

  “Not again.” Alex sighed and turned to Duncan. “How many times has Inverness been burned?”

  “Some men are practicing in the field behind the castle,” Duncan said. “Since we may fight these rebels one day, let’s see how good they are.”

  As Alex and Duncan entered the field, the men halted their practice. Twenty pairs of hostile eyes fixed upon them.

  “What are the MacDonalds of Sleat doing here?” one man said loud enough for all to hear. He was a MacLeod warrior with a long scar down the side of his face.

  “We’re not your enemies,” Alex said.

  “Then why has your clan not joined the rebellion?” another man asked.

  “Because we’re just brimming with goodwill to all,” Alex said, spreading his arms out.

  Most of the men laughed and that might have been an end to it, if not for a young man with a weedy beard and weasel eyes.

  “I say the MacDonalds of Sleat refuse to join us because they are poor fighters.” The man paused, then added, “Or else they are just cowards.”

  “That’s it,” Duncan said, as he unsheathed his claymore. “Who’s first?”

  “I’ll fight ye,” the same fool said, and stepped forward to meet Duncan.

  “Who’s next?” Alex whipped out his sword—he couldn’t let Duncan defend the honor of the clan alone. “How about you with the ugly face?”

  As Alex fought the MacLeod warrior, he watched the other fight out of the corner of his eye. Duncan fought with his usual cool control. His opponent was red-faced and cursing as he fell back, again and again, under the pounding assault of Duncan’s claymore. In no time, the man was flat on his back with Duncan’s foot on his chest and the point of Duncan’s sword just beneath his weedy beard.

  After Alex and Duncan defeated three or four opponents each, tempers cooled, and the other men resumed their practice as if nothing had occurred.

  “That felt good,” Alex said, as he and Duncan rested against the castle wall. They watched the others, commenting in low voices on their skill or lack of it.

  But then Alex’s attention was caught by a woman who came out of the castle gate. She made an abrupt turn and walked toward them at a furious pace with her head down.

  “Is that Glynis MacNeil?” Duncan asked.

  “Aye. What in the hell is she doing out here alone?” There were other women at the gathering, but they had the sense to stay inside the keep or stick close to their men.

  Alex caught her arm as she charged past him.

  “Ye can’t go—” The words dried in his mouth. He’d forgotten what an impact her face had on him. He tried telling himself that she wasn’t any more beautiful than a hundred women he knew—but there was something about her that stole his thoughts away.

  Glynis was staring right back at him with her luminous gray eyes. Though he knew it was a mistake, he let his gaze drop to her mouth. Her lips were parted. The memory of that kiss on the beach sang through his body, bringing everything to full attention.

  Alex gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t let that happen again.

  “You look upset,” Alex said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” But then she glanced back toward the gate, and the color drained from her face.

  A heavily muscled warrior with a full black beard and black eyes to match had just come into the field. He had his claymore strapped to his back and looked as if he meant to join the practice. But when his gaze fell on Glynis, he stopped in place. The tension running between the two of them was as palpable as a taut rope holding a sail in a storm.

  “Who is he?” Alex asked.

  “The chieftain of Clanranald,” she said so low he could barely hear her. “Magnus, my former husband.”

  “He looks as if he harbors a grudge against ye,” Alex said.

  “He would have preferred I left our marriage for the grave.”

  “You!” Magnus roared, as he pulled his claymore from his back.

  “Take her.” Alex shoved Glynis toward Duncan and positioned himself a few paces in front of them, his stance wide and his sword ready.

  “Watch yourself,” Duncan said in a low voice behind him. “This one knows how to fight.”

  The Clanranald chieftain raised his claymore over his head and roared again as he ran headlong toward them. The blow was so strong that Alex felt the vibration to his feet.

  “Ye forget you’re a guest here,” Alex grunted between their next exchange of blows.

  The man’s eyes were wild with rage, and he swung his sword with the force of a boulder crashing down a cliff. For a man so heavy with muscle, he was quick, too. It took all of Alex’s skill and strength to force him toward the middle of the field. When Alex had him well away from the wall, he risked a glance to be sure Duncan had gotten Glynis inside the castle gate.

  Diverting his attention for even a moment was a mistake. Alex had to drop to the ground to avoid the Clanranald chieftain’s next swing. He felt the wind of the blade in his hair. Before he could get to his feet, his opponent brought his sword straight down with a loud grunt. Alex rolled out of the way just before the blade thudded to the ground.

  This was no practice fight—the Clanranald chieftain was trying to kill him.

  The two of them crossed swords up and down the yard. Alex spun around and hit Magnus’s back so hard with the flat of his sword that he nearly knocked the chieftain off his feet. When a cheer went up, Alex became aware that a crowd had gathered to watch them.

  But Alex wasn’t putting on a show this time. He was fighting for his life.

  Sweat poured down his back as he alternately blocked Magnus’s sword and swung his own. At last, he sensed his opponent tiring. They leaned into each other, swords crossed, and faces inches apart.

  “Only a weak man would let a lass upset him so much,” Alex taunted him.

  “She doesn’t upset me,” Magnus hissed, his black
eyes bulging with fury.

  When they broke apart, Magnus came at him hard, but his swings were less controlled. Alex spun and danced around him, swinging again and again, wearing him down.

  “I hear she cut your ballocks off,” Alex said just loud enough for Magnus to hear him, “and left ye less than a man.”

  This time when Magnus charged him, Alex stepped aside—and stuck his foot out. The Clanranald chieftain crashed to the ground. In an instant, Alex sat astride his opponent’s back and held his head up by his hair. Duncan appeared with a bucket of water and drenched the Clanranald chieftain, who sputtered and coughed.

  “Ye can thank me for saving ye from murdering a lass who doesn’t upset ye,” Alex said, still breathing hard. “And by the way, I believe we are cousins of some sort—my mother is a Clanranald.”

  “Get off me!”

  Alex leaned down to speak in the man’s ear. “Stay away from Glynis MacNeil if ye know what’s good for ye. Next time, I’ll kill ye—and now ye know I can do it.”

  Magnus Clanranald was a chieftain and a man of pride. Threatening him was not wise, but it was necessary. Alex left the man with his face in the dirt.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” Alex said, as he and Duncan started off the field. “I’d say we’re doing a fine job of following Connor’s orders to make friends among the rebel clans.”

  “’Tis good to remind them that we MacDonalds know how to fight,” Duncan said. “Better that they respect us than like us.”

  “I did refrain from killing the Clanranald chieftain,” Alex pointed out.

  “That was probably a mistake,” Duncan said. “I was watching his clansmen while ye were fighting, and at least half of them were ready to thank ye for doing away with him.”

  * * *

  Glynis ignored Duncan’s order to go inside the keep and stood transfixed watching the fight through the open gate. Apparently, the MacDonald captain of the guard was used to being obeyed, for he left her without a backward glance.

  “Ye don’t want to miss this fight!” someone shouted.

  People jostled her as they pushed past to go out into the yard. Fortunately, no one seemed to realize the fight had anything to do with her. A large crowd encircled the two men who were clanking swords ferociously up and down the field.

  “I don’t blame ye for watching. Alex MacDonald is sinfully handsome.”

  Glynis started at the sound of a woman’s deep, rich voice beside her. She turned to find it belonged to the mysterious beauty, Lady Catherine Campbell, who was Shaggy Maclean’s wife. With her wavy dark hair and voluptuous curves, the woman exuded a sensuality that left men gasping. Catherine was every man’s dream—and she knew it.

  Next to her, Glynis felt like a doll her father once made for her from sticks and frayed rope.

  “Praise God,” Glynis said when Alex and Duncan left Magnus sprawled on the ground.

  “I knew Alex would win,” Catherine said. “He has the twin gifts of skill and the devil’s own luck.”

  When Magnus started to get up, Glynis picked up her skirts to go inside before he saw her again. But as she turned, the glint of sun hitting metal caught her eye. Magnus was pulling a short blade from his sleeve.

  “Alex!” Glynis shouted.

  The warning was unnecessary. Alex had read his man well and was already spinning around in a crouch. He moved so fast that it was difficult to tell exactly how he did it, but his boot met Magnus’s hand with such force that the dirk flew into the air.

  A moment later, Magnus’s own men caught him under the arms and dragged him away. Attempting to stab another guest in the back was a serious breach of the rules of Highland hospitality.

  Alex wiped his brow on his sleeve and headed down toward the water with Duncan. Glynis watched as the two men waded into the sea and dove under. When Alex emerged after his swim with his shirt clinging to his broad chest, and his hair slicked back and hanging to his shoulders, a small moan escaped her.

  She had forgotten Catherine was still standing next to her until she spoke again.

  “Save yourself some heartache—don’t set your sights on Alex MacDonald,” Catherine said. “You’re not his sort at all.”

  “I’ve set my sights on no man,” Glynis said, feeling unreasonably annoyed by the remark. “And what do ye mean, I’m not his sort?”

  “Ye may be twenty, but you’re still a girl,” Catherine said with a laugh in her voice. “A man like Alex needs a woman.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Alex looked for Glynis when he and Duncan entered the castle, thinking he deserved to collect a kiss from her after that fight. He was ready to risk it—though not in front of her father. But Glynis was not among the crowd congratulating him.

  “That was some fine bladework,” Shaggy Maclean said, slapping Alex on his back.

  Alex refrained from telling Shaggy to keep his goddamned hands off of him. He hadn’t forgotten Shaggy’s attempt to help Hugh take the chieftainship from Connor.

  “I hear the men tested your mettle as well,” Shaggy said, and took his life in his hands by squeezing Duncan’s shoulder. “We need warriors like the two of ye fighting for the rebellion.”

  “We’ll discuss it with our chieftain,” Duncan said.

  He and Duncan excused themselves to rinse off the salt water from their swim at the well in the castle courtyard. Afterward, Alex climbed the stairs of the keep, looking for an empty chamber where he could stretch out away from the noise in the hall. He should ask his hostess, but he intended to avoid Catherine Campbell for as long as he could.

  Alex stripped off his wet clothes and put on the dry shirt he had retrieved from their boat. His muscles ached pleasantly from being worked hard. With a sigh, he lay down on top of the bedclothes.

  He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping when he awoke to the delicious sensation of a woman’s fingertips caressing his stomach. He smiled to himself and indulged in the completely inappropriate fantasy that it was Glynis MacNeil running her fingers over his skin.

  Ah, that feels good, Glynis.

  Long hair tickled his chest, and he imagined her thick chestnut-brown hair sliding over him. Aye.

  It was bound to be a disappointment, but he supposed it was time to find out who this really was. When he slit open his eyes, Catherine Campbell was leaning over him with her hair spilling over his chest.

  “I’d been watching for ye,” she said in her husky voice. “And now I’ve found ye.”

  She had found him, indeed. Her hand was wrapped around his cock.

  Catherine was a gorgeous woman, and he was tempted. God knew, his body was ready. But contrary to what many thought of him, Alex did abide by certain rules.

  “I can’t do this, Catherine,” he said. “Not when I’m a guest in your husband’s home.”

  “That didn’t trouble ye last time,” she said.

  When she started moving her hand up his shaft, he held her wrist—no small act of will.

  “I was a prisoner in Shaggy’s dungeon, not his guest,” he said. “The customary rules of courtesy did not apply.”

  Catherine gave a throaty laugh. Alex tried hard not to notice that her skirts were hiked up to reveal lovely thighs—or that every time she leaned over him, her even lovelier breasts pressed against the low-cut bodice, as if begging to be released.

  “Ye needn’t be concerned about Shaggy because I’m going to leave him,” Catherine said, and Alex’s throat went dry as she ran her hands from the sides of her breasts down to her hips and then the tops of her bare thighs. “Ye see, I need a man who can please me.”

  There was nothing Connor would like better than a close connection to the Campbells. And Catherine was clearly suggesting a close connection of some sort.

  “But ye haven’t left Shaggy yet,” he said. “So let me get up.”

  When she didn’t budge, Alex decided he would have to move her off him, but there seemed no safe place to put his hands.

  “Let’s get naked, Alexander.” She
leaned against him, pressing her full breasts against his chest, and wound her arms around his neck.

  It was not like him to say nay to a beautiful woman who wanted him naked. He made a practice of following the old saying The oar that is close at hand, row with it.

  With her rubbing against him, his body was in favor of giving in. And yet, he didn’t truly want Catherine. It wasn’t just that bedding the wife of his host was against one of his few principles, or that he felt used—though he did. Catherine wanted to punish her husband. And worse, he suspected she wanted to get caught.

  She was a beautiful, willing woman. And yet, Alex couldn’t get rid of her fast enough to suit him. As he sat up he took hold of her waist and lifted her to the floor. There.

  When he stood, Catherine came behind him and put her arms around his waist. Her hands roamed over his chest and hips, and it took him a moment too long to remember why this was a bad idea. By the time he did, she had tugged his shirt over his head.

  “Catherine. I told ye I can’t do this.”

  When he turned around and took his shirt from her, she pressed herself against him. Ach, Catherine would try a saint. As soon as he peeled her fingers from around his neck, they ended up on his arse.

  She felt very, very good. As she kissed his chest, he closed his eyes and checked his resolve.

  “Ye know ye want me,” she said against his skin.

  “Not now, Catherine.” Gently, he pushed her away.

  Before she could grab him again, Alex gathered the rest of his clothes from the bench. When he turned and started toward the door, it was already open. Oh, God, no.

  CHAPTER 8

  The clatter and voices from below grew muffled as Glynis climbed the circular stone stairs. She should find Alex in the hall and thank him for what he did, but she didn’t want to risk seeing Magnus again so soon. When she reached the third floor, she paused, trying to remember which bedchamber the Macleans usually set aside for the visiting women of high rank.