The Sinner

by Margaret Mallory

  “My father always said how much I was like her.” And he never seemed to notice the look of irritation on her stepmother’s face when he said it.

  For the first time, Glynis felt guilty, knowing how worried her father must be about her. They had always had a close bond, though their fights since she left Magnus had strained it badly.

  “I’ll never understand what possessed my sister to run off and wed that wild Highlander,” Aunt Peg said, touching the back of her pudgy hand to her forehead.

  “He was devilishly handsome,” the maid said in a voice too low for her aunt to hear.

  Glynis did not believe that was the reason her mother had followed him across Scotland, though her father must have been handsome as a young chieftain.

  “It was because he loved her so much,” Glynis said.

  She felt a sting in her eye, thinking of her father’s daily visits to her mother’s grave. How many times had she spied on him there as a child and heard him having a discussion with his long-dead wife? If Glynis had grown up expecting to have love in her marriage, it was her father’s doing, however inadvertent.

  “Love doesn’t put food on the table,” her aunt said. “Henry’s left his shop to take us on our errand, so we must not keep him waiting.”

  Glynis had a hundred questions she wanted to ask about her mother, but her aunt had had little to say on the subject when she inquired earlier.

  In far too short a time, Glynis found herself on the High Street again. The city was nothing like the soft, dreamy images she had of it. Her nursemaid, Old Molly, had told her stories about her parents falling in love here when her father was called to court. According to Old Molly, her father had been a lost man from the moment he first saw her mother on this very street. How had he noticed her in the midst of this chaos?

  “Is it always like this?” Glynis asked. The constant noise of voices, carts, and clanking bells made her head throb.

  “Aye,” her aunt said. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “There’s no place like it, except for London,” her aunt’s husband said. Henry was a squat, bald-headed man who seemed as mild and pleasant as her aunt.

  As Glynis followed them through the doorway of yet another shop, she had to turn sideways to avoid a woman carrying a large basket. They had visited half a dozen shops, and her aunt and uncle had not purchased anything.

  “What is it you’re looking for?” Whatever it was, Glynis hoped they found it soon.

  Glynis felt an elbow in her side and looked down to find her aunt beaming up at her with a smile so big that her eyes nearly closed above her plump cheeks.

  “A husband,” her aunt whispered in a giddy voice. “Henry says two of the unmarried merchants are interested in ye already—and we’ve only been out an hour!”

  * * *

  Blackness settled over Alex’s soul as the door clanked shut behind him. In the dim torchlight coming through the door’s iron grate, he took in his cell. He was in the undercroft that carried the weight of the castle and rested on the black rock on which it was built.

  The curved ceiling was too low for him to stand, so he sat on the uneven rock floor and held his head in his hands. His freedom was everything to him. Sailing, fighting, swiving. That was his life. His cell didn’t even have a window.

  He had known it might come to this when he agreed to come to court for Connor, but he hadn’t let himself think about it. Most hostages were kept in better quarters—apparently he’d made a poor impression on the regent.

  As the hours ticked by, Alex wondered how he would keep his sanity in the months to come. He felt the weight of the tons of stone above him.

  He heard muffled footsteps and assumed they were bringing him his first meal. But when a guard with missing teeth unlocked the iron grate to his cell, he was empty-handed.

  “Ye have friends in high places,” the guard said. “Follow me.”

  Alex leaped to his feet and nearly banged his head in his hurry to get out. Feeling like a rat, he followed the guard through the tunnel-like corridor between the cells. Impatience thrummed through his muscles as the guard fumbled with the keys at the last door. Finally, it opened, and Alex stepped out into a burst of sunshine that was like entering Heaven.

  A tall, dark-haired Frenchman with a white scarf around his neck was waiting there. By the saints, it was the White Knight, Antoine D’Arcy, Sieur de la Bastie.

  “You are free, Alexander,” D’Arcy said.

  Alex didn’t quite believe it until D’Arcy signaled to a man standing behind him, who came forward to hand Alex his claymore and his dirks.

  “God bless ye, D’Arcy,” Alex said, as he strapped on his claymore. “Ye can consider the debt ye owe me repaid.”

  “Saving a man from prison is not equal to saving a man’s life,” D’Arcy said.

  “It is to me,” Alex said and squeezed D’Arcy’s shoulder. “How did ye do it?”

  “It was fortunate I was in the hall and saw the guards take you,” D’Arcy said, as they started walking in the direction of the castle gate. “I told the regent that you and your chieftain had fought the English with us in France, and so you could not be traitors.”

  Why fighting the English should ensure their loyalty to the Scottish Crown was something of a mystery to Alex, but he didn’t say so. “The regent accepted that?”

  “I told him I would defend your honor to the death.”

  Despite all he’d been through, Alex had to fight a smile. D’Arcy lived for the old knightly virtues that seemed naïve to a Highlander.

  “I suspect that your being rich, titled, and famous throughout France for your fighting skills may have been persuasive as well,” Alex said.

  “Of course,” D’Arcy said without the slightest bit of humor.

  D’Arcy had horses waiting for them in the castle’s lower courtyard next to the massive stone gatehouse. As Alex rode through the gate, he eyed the iron spikes of the raised portcullis above his head. He blew out his breath when he reached the other side.

  “Albany asked ye to come to Scotland?” Alex asked.

  “He needed help persuading the queen and her English faction to give up the regency,” D’Arcy said. “We had to lay siege to Stirling Castle before she would hand over the royal children.”

  They continued talking royal politics as they rode down the hill. Even the city air smelled good to Alex.

  “What will the queen and her new husband do now?” Alex asked.

  The handsome Douglas chieftain had wormed his way into the queen’s bed in a bid for power almost before the king’s body was cold.

  “The queen fled to England to her brother, King Henry VIII, but her husband…,” D’Arcy paused, lifting an eyebrow, “… accompanied her as far as the border and turned around.”

  Alex laughed. “There’s true love for ye. I suppose the Douglas was afraid of being labeled a traitor and losing his lands.”

  “I’m glad your clan is not part of this rebellion,” D’Arcy said. “I’d rather not face you and your cousins and that big fellow Duncan in battle.”

  Alex grinned, recalling the last time they had practiced together. It had been a hard fight, but it had ended with D’Arcy on his back and the point of Alex’s blade at his throat. To his credit, D’Arcy had conceded with his usual grace.

  “You’ll find that rebellions are like mud in the Highlands,” Alex said. “Everywhere ye step, more squishes through your toes.”

  “Albany is intent on putting an end to them,” D’Arcy said. “He and the Council have appointed Colin Campbell, the Earl of Argyll, as Protector of the Western Isles, and they’ve given him authority to put down the rebellion ‘by sword and by fire.’”

  “Ach, ’tis dangerous to give that much power to the Campbells,” Alex said.

  “Albany is aware of the risk,” D’Arcy said. “But as the Scottish Crown has no army of its own, he must rely on chieftains who can command large numbers of men to enforce the Crown’s authority. In this case, that is C
olin Campbell.”

  Alex had come to Edinburgh to appease the Crown, but it was the Campbell chieftain who now wielded immediate power over the clans in the Western Isles. Fortunately, the Campbell chieftain owed Alex a favor for rescuing his sister. He hoped he could use it to benefit his clan.

  “Albany has charged me with delivering the decree to the Campbell chieftain,” D’Arcy said. “If you are leaving for your home, you must travel with me as far as Inveraray Castle. It would be like old times.”

  “I’m leaving as soon as I collect my horses,” Alex said. “But I’ll wait for ye outside the city.”

  “I can’t let you go yet,” D’Arcy said. “Sabine de Savoisy insisted I bring you back to the palace to see her.”

  Alex groaned. He had forgotten all about Sabine.

  CHAPTER 20

  The guards at the door to the palace looked as if they would like to gut Alex, but they let him through with D’Arcy. Once they were inside, D’Arcy sent a message for Sabine with one of the servants.

  “Ah, the exquisite Sabine de Savoisy has arrived,” D’Arcy said a short time later.

  Alex turned in time to see her descending the wide staircase. All the men in the hall seemed to be watching her as she paused on the stairs to survey the room. When her eyes met Alex’s, she gave him a slight nod.

  “Weren’t you and she once… ,” D’Arcy said.

  “A very long time ago,” Alex said.

  “If you wish to ride to Inveraray with me and my men, meet us at noon tomorrow outside the palace gates,” D’Arcy said. “Of course, I won’t blame you if you decide to stay longer to visit with Sabine.”

  Alex bid D’Arcy farewell and crossed the hall to greet Sabine.

  “You’re as lovely as ever,” he said, as he brought her hand to his lips.

  Sabine was a few years older than Alex, so she must be about thirty now. The planes of her face were sharper, giving her a starker, more austere beauty. Her hair was drawn up into a high, elaborate headdress that drew the eye to the graceful line of her neck.

  “I am delighted you could visit me at last.” As she took his arm, she added in a low voice, “I’ll take you to a room where we can be alone.”

  Her skirts rustled and shimmered as they crossed the crowded room. When she led him through a low doorway, up a back stairway, and into a chamber with a large canopied bed in the center, Alex wondered what kind of fool’s errand he was on. Surely Sabine could not have asked him to travel all this way to roll around on a bed for an hour or two.

  When she settled on the settee by the windows, Alex sighed with relief and took the chair opposite her.

  “You look well, Alexander,” she said with a bright smile.

  He held her gaze and let the silence grow between them while he waited for her to state her purpose.

  “Does your clan support the faction that favors France, or do you favor ties with those dreadful Englishmen?”

  “I fear we Highlanders have been too occupied cutting each other’s throats to give the question our full consideration,” Alex said.

  Sabine leaned her head back, revealing her ivory throat, and gave a light, musical laugh. There were those who would be surprised to know it was Sabine’s laugh, and not her lush body, that had first drawn him to her.

  “Did ye ask me to travel across the breadth of Scotland—and into Lowlander territory, no less—to discuss politics with ye?”

  “You used to be better at taking your time with … the preliminaries,” she said, her lips curved in amusement.

  “Sorry, but your friend Albany had me tossed into a prison cell today.”

  “I heard you made a memorable entrance.” She laughed again, but this time it was a nervous laugh. “You’re the talk of the palace.”

  “What is this gift ye have for me?” he asked.

  She dropped her gaze and ran her fingers along the edge of the settee. This hesitancy was unlike the Sabine who had taken hold of a young Highlander and let him know in no uncertain terms what she wanted of him. Alex leaned back and waited her out.

  “I had a child,” she said.

  “Congratulations.” Alex shrugged. “That must have pleased your husband at his advanced age.” Her husband was eighty if he was a day.

  “Hardly, since the child could not possibly have been his,” she said, giving Alex a piercing look. “It was fortunate for me that my husband died before my pregnancy showed.”

  A swell of unease settled in Alex’s gut. “When did ye have this child?”

  She lifted her gaze to the ceiling and touched a finger to her powdered cheek. “Let me try to remember,” she said with a sharp edge to her voice. “Oh yes, the child was born precisely eight and a half months after we ended our affair.”

  Surely she was not suggesting that the child was his? What puzzled him was why she would tell him this lie.

  “Our affair began and ended shortly after I arrived in France,” he said, cocking his eyebrow at her. “But I was in France for five more years. If the child was mine, a woman as resourceful as you could have gotten word to me.”

  “I had no reason to tell you,” she said. “I didn’t want anyone to know, and mourning the death of my husband gave me the excuse to retire from society for a few months.”

  That would explain why he had never heard of Sabine having a child. It did not mean, however, that the child was his.

  “Why not tell me, if ye believed the child could be mine?” he asked.

  “I feared you would make a fuss,” she said, turning her head to gaze out the window.

  Alex sat up straight. “A fuss? A man doesn’t make a fuss.”

  “No matter how devil-may-care you are about women,” she said in a thin voice, “I understand that you Highlanders have… unusually strong feelings about blood relationships.”

  “No more games, Sabine.” Alex leaned forward and took hold of her arms. “If there truly is a child, what makes ye think it’s mine? And I won’t believe I was your only lover.”

  “You were my only lover at the time I conceived,” she said, glaring at him.

  “Or the only one ye think is gullible enough to believe the child is his.”

  “If you recall,” she said, her voice as sharp as a razor, “we did not leave my house for a fortnight. Resourceful as I am, it would not have been possible for me to carry on another affair at the same time.”

  Never left her house? Ach, they rarely left her bed—except to make love on the floor or against the wall. He recalled how her well-trained servants left trays of food and drink outside the bedchamber door. Still, Sabine could easily lie about when the child was conceived.

  “You will know the child is yours when you see it,” she said, and folded her hands in her lap.

  She must think he would accept any fair-haired child as his own. And yet, if the child was his, he had cause to be furious with her.

  “Ye believed the child was mine all along,” he said, raising his voice, “and ye didn’t tell me?”

  “I wanted to keep the child’s existence a secret.”

  And Alex wanted to shake Sabine until her teeth rattled. He made himself take a deep breath before he spoke again. “So why tell me now?”

  “I’ve run out of money.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. “So I must marry again.”

  Alex’s heart sank to his feet with a thud. Did she want him to claim her child and marry her? He could not imagine a worse wife. Why, Sabine was exactly like him.

  “I’m not a poor man,” he said, “but I’m no a rich one, either.”

  Sabine’s expression clouded for a moment, and then she tilted her head back in a genuine laugh. “Alex, I’m not suggesting we marry!” She lifted her hand toward the window and said, “Can you see me living in this wilderness?”

  If she considered Edinburgh a wilderness, then going to Skye would seem to her like crossing the River Styx to Hades.

  “Mon dieu!” She wiped the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief,
still shaking with laughter. “Finding a wealthy man was not difficult. In fact, I’m already betrothed.”

  Another man would raise his child? Alex got up and started pacing the room.

  “The problem is that I cannot take the chance that my betrothed will discover I had a child outside of my marriage.” She cleared her throat. “He is generous to a fault, but his steward takes his duties far too seriously. Why, the wretch tracks every penny!”

  “What has this to do with me?” Alex asked.

  “I fear that if I continue to support the child, my secret will be discovered.” She paused and licked her lips. “So I brought the child here.”

  “The child is here?” Alex thought he must have heard wrong.

  “Not here at the palace, of course.” Sabine fanned herself with her hand. “But, yes, she is here in Edinburgh. I thought it wise to speak alone with you first, before you see her.”

  “She?” Good God, was Sabine telling him this child was a girl?

  “I’m told she is an… unusual… child,” Sabine said.

  “You’re told?”

  “You can’t believe that the child has been living with me?” Sabine rolled her eyes as if she found him desperately slow-witted.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Having a child about would be too inconvenient.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” she snapped, her expression suddenly angry. “Men can raise their bastard children if they wish, but for a woman it would be a catastrophe.”

  Alex had to acknowledge that there was some truth to that, at least in France.

  “So where has your daughter been living?” he asked.

  Sabine shrugged one elegant shoulder. “With an elderly couple in the country.”

  What did Sabine want? Was it money? Did she think a wee visit with the child was necessary to convince him to pay?

  “Tell me why ye went to the trouble of bringing the child here,” he said.

  “Why indeed!” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “It was a risk, but it would have been a greater risk to keep her in France.”