The Sinner

by Margaret Mallory

  Glynis knew what he wanted because she wanted it, too. Her resistance had worn thin, riding next to him all day and then sleeping a few feet away from him each night. Traveling the same trail made her recall all too clearly how they had spent their nights on their way to Edinburgh.

  She would not bring shame upon herself and her family by having an open affair with Alex. But she had come to the conclusion that if there was any way she could have a secret one again, she would. Since that appeared utterly impossible with the child and the maid and twenty men a stone’s throw away, Glynis resolutely focused her attention on Sorcha.

  “One, two, three…four,” she repeated in Gaelic, as she held up the child’s fingers. “Five…six…seven…” Glynis felt Alex’s eyes on her and turned to him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  A slow smile spread over his face. “Like I want ye? I can’t help it, Glynis. I do.”

  “Watch what ye say,” she whispered. “Ye don’t know how much Gaelic the child understands already.” Despite the fact that Sorcha’s head lay heavy against Glynis’s chest and her eyelids were drifting shut, Glynis continued. “Eight, nine—”

  “For God’s sake, Glynis, let the poor child sleep.” Alex scooped Sorcha up in his arms, then he paused and looked down at his daughter with a soft smile. “I’m looking forward to taking her sailing. Ye can see that the Viking blood is strong in her, just as it is in me.”

  “Aye,” Glynis said, thinking they made an extraordinary pair with their fair hair shining in the firelight. “And when ye took her in the loch today, she swam like a wee fish.”

  Alex laid Sorcha inside the tent next to Bessie. When he returned, he sat close enough to Glynis that his sleeve brushed hers. She stared into the fire and tried to make herself breathe normally.

  “I have a proposition for ye,” Alex said.

  Glynis’s stomach did a little flip. “A proposition?”

  She hoped her voice didn’t sound as stiff and prim to him as it did to her. Did he have to put it to her formally? This would be easier if he sneaked off with her into the darkness, swept her into his arms, and covered her with kisses. But it was like Alex not to let her pretend he had seduced her. Nay, he would make her acknowledge that she chose to sin with him.

  “I want to.” She was gripping the skirt of her gown so tightly that her knuckles were white. Could he not just get on with it?

  “I haven’t told ye the proposition yet.”

  “Must ye always tease me?” Glynis was so embarrassed she could not look at him. “I told ye the answer is aye. But not now—we must wait until we are certain all the men are asleep so no one sees us.”

  Alex touched her elbow, sending sparks of heat up her arm.

  “I don’t mean to tease ye,” he said in a low voice that reverberated through her. “And I’m not propositioning ye, if that’s what ye think.”

  Heat drenched through her. It was ten times—nay, a hundred times—more embarrassing to say aye to a proposition that was not given, than to one that was.

  “Wait,” Alex said, holding her arm as she tried to pull away.

  She felt hurt, as well as humiliated, and she wanted to be away from him.

  “Glynis, listen to me.” She struggled against him, but he held her in a firm grip. “I do want to bed ye.”

  This was too mortifying. “Let me go, Alex.”

  He turned her face toward him. “Believe me, I do want ye.”

  The roughness in his voice and the heat in his eyes made her feel confused and flustered. Did he want her or no?

  “Bedding ye is part of what I’m asking ye,” he said, his green eyes intent on hers. “But it’s no the most important part.”

  There was something more important to Alex MacDonald than swiving? Now there was a surprise.

  “What else do ye want of me?” She could not think with him so close.

  Alex released her and cleared his throat. For a man who was usually so at ease, he suddenly seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. All her instincts were on alert, telling her to be wary. Whatever Alex was about to ask her, he surely did not want to.

  “Marriage.” Alex said it on an exhale, as if forcing the word out. “That’s what I’m asking.”

  “Marriage?” Glynis could not have been more astonished if a dozen fairies had joined them at their campfire.

  “Ye will have to take another husband,” Alex said. “Surely ye can see that now?”

  She had been trying to reconcile herself to the notion since discovering that her mother’s family was just as adamant as her father was about seeing her remarried. But it was a bitter medicine to swallow.

  “As distasteful as it is to me to wed again, I admit that I may have no choice in the end,” she said. “But you, Alex, ye cannot seriously want a wife.”

  “My daughter needs a mother,” he said.

  Of course, that was what prompted this. Why had she not thought of it at once?

  “Why me?” she asked. “There are plenty of women—including chieftains’ daughters—who want a husband.”

  “Sorcha warmed to ye from the start,” Alex said. “She’s become attached to ye, and I believe ye have to her as well.”

  An unexpected swell of disappointment filled Glynis’s chest.

  “You’d be a good mother to her,” he said.

  “And that is the reason ye ask me to be your wife?” Her voice was sharper than she intended.

  “We get along well enough.” Alex shrugged and gave her his devilish smile. “Especially in bed.”

  “So going to bed with ye would be part of my duties, in addition to playing nursemaid?” she snapped. “For how long, Alex?”

  When his eyes darted like a trapped animal, Glynis felt as if her heart were being squeezed by a fist.

  “Ye heard what I did to my first husband.” She deliberately looked at his crotch. “Are ye no afraid I’ll cut it off?”

  * * *

  Alex threw his head back and laughed. “I do like your spark, Glynis.”

  If he could keep things light and easy between them, all would be well—or, at least, well enough. He was determined to raise his daughter in a home without the fights and screaming that he grew up with. From his parents, he’d learned that one strong emotion led too easily to another, that love could turn to hate. And hate lasted far longer.

  Magnus Clanranald had made the same mistake that Alex’s father had, embarrassing his wife by being brazen about his other women. There was no need for that. A good husband was sensitive to his wife’s feelings. If Alex could not control his urges, then he’d keep his affairs brief and out of Glynis’s sight.

  “I’d always respect ye.” Alex looked into the fire and spoke to her from his heart. “I promise I would never embarrass ye. I would always be discreet.”

  Both his parents had told him countless times that it was not in his blood to be content with one woman. But at the moment, at least, all his urges involved Glynis. He would not be satisfied until he had her a hundred different ways. By the saints, he wanted this woman as he’d never wanted another. The last four days and nights had nearly killed him.

  He turned, intent on dragging her off into the bushes at last. But he stopped short when he saw that the fire burning in her eyes was not the sort he had been hoping for.

  “Oouu!” The sound she emitted as she sprang to her feet made him glad there was no crockery about for her to throw at him. Apparently, promising to be discreet had been the wrong thing to say. He stood up and considered how best to soothe her.

  “What woman,” she said, planting her fists on her hips, “could say nay to having such a considerate husband?”

  “I don’t want to lie to ye,” he said. “I’ve never tried to be faithful, so I don’t know if I can.”

  “Ye are a born romantic, Alexander Bàn MacDonald.”

  Good lord, did hardheaded Glynis MacNeil expect love? He’d had no notion she harbored such hopes.

  “I thought your first marriage would hav
e cured ye of unreasonable expectations,” he said—and knew at once he had made another a mistake.

  “So, I am the unreasonable one?” Her eyes were narrow slits like a wildcat’s ready to strike. “And yet, ye would expect me to mother your daughter, manage your household, and be your bedmate for as long as ye like. And then, when ye tire of having me in your bed, I’m to stand aside while ye have one ‘discreet’ affair after another with every willing woman in the Western Isles?”

  Alex shifted from foot to foot. He did not sleep with every willing woman, but it seemed best not to mention that just now.

  “And because ye are such a handsome, charming man,” she said, spreading her hands out, “I would, of course, agree to this arrangement.”

  “Ye are a sensible woman,” he said, though he was having serious doubts about this. “Ye have to marry someone, and I’m no worse than most.”

  Not much worse, anyway.

  “Besides,” he added, “ye already went to bed with me, so we ought to marry.”

  “I presume,” she continued, as though he had not spoken, “that I could have affairs as well, so long as I was discreet.”

  “Nay.” The word was out of his mouth before he thought it. He would have to kill any man who touched his wife, but he thought better of telling her this. “Suppose ye became pregnant? I’d need to know that the child was mine.”

  “Setting aside the fact that I’m verra likely barren,” she said. “You’re saying it would be well and good for me to raise your children by other women, but no the other way around.”

  “Aye.” That was the way of the world. Why did she make it sound as if he had invented it? “But I only have the one child.”

  “So far.” She folded her arms. “I appreciate that ye blessed me with your kind offer, but I will not marry another philanderer. If I am forced to take another husband, I’ll wed a steady, serious man I can rely on.”

  He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

  “You, Alexander Bàn MacDonald,” she said, poking her finger into his chest, “are the verra last man in all of the Highlands I would want for a husband.”

  * * *

  Sorcha opened her eyes to blackness, and fear rushed through her. When she heard the soft breathing of the women on either side of her, she knew she was not back in the room with the big mice. Still, she wanted to see the stars to be sure.

  Taking care not to wake Glynis and Bessie, she crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees. Across the cold campfire, her father sat alone in the dark. He was no more than a black shape, but she knew it was him. And he was sad.

  The grass made her feet wet as she walked around the campfire to him.

  “Ye couldn’t sleep either?” he asked in a soft voice when she crawled into his lap.

  She nodded against his chest and pointed up at the stars.

  “A wish?” He always seemed to understand her. She felt him chuckle, and he said, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

  Together they found the brightest star so he could make his wish.

  Sorcha didn’t need to make one. Hers had been granted when her father found her.

  CHAPTER 27

  By the saints, Glynis MacNeil was a stubborn woman. In the week since Alex suggested they marry, she had not spoken to him except when absolutely necessary.

  Worse, she spent far too much time riding beside D’Arcy. They were in front of him and Sorcha now, engaged in a lively conversation that involved hand motions as much as words. It appeared that she was teaching D’Arcy Gaelic. Still, Glynis had kept her promise to care for Sorcha on the trip. Every night, she sat by the fire with his daughter in her lap and then slept with her—instead of him.

  Alex usually let women come to him, but he was not above seducing Glynis to persuade her to wed him. It should not be difficult—he could tell she wanted him. He was always catching her eyes on him, because he was always looking at her as well. Unfortunately, the opportunities to seduce her while riding out in the open with twenty men and his daughter were few, so Alex was biding his time until they reached the Campbell stronghold.

  In the meantime, he was wooing her with his stories around the campfire. Glynis was a constant surprise, for beneath that sober, sensible demeanor was a lass with a weakness for a good tale. Alex hoped her weakness would extend to the storyteller.

  “That castle ye see across this loch is Inveraray Castle, the seat of the Campbell clan,” Alex said, pointing it out for Sorcha. Sometimes now he spoke to her only in Gaelic, and she would tap on his arm to let him know when she did not understand. “We’ll reach it tomorrow.”

  Glynis slowed her horse to ride beside them.

  “The Campbells are a powerful clan, and this is just one of their castles,” Alex continued. “The Campbell chieftain can raise hundreds of warriors.”

  He glanced at Glynis’s stiff form and decided that a wee bit of jealousy might help his cause. “Glynis, do ye think I should look for a wife among the Campbells? Nothing would please my chieftain more.”

  “Nor mine.” She gave him a look that would slice through granite. “I suspect a chieftain’s daughter would appeal to those land-grabbing Campbells.”

  “If ye wish to catch a man, I suggest ye work on your charm,” Alex said. “Men like sweet, agreeable women.”

  Sorcha tapped on his arm, but he shook his head. This was not a conversation for a child.

  “Is that what ye will tell your daughter?” Glynis asked. “That she must be sweet and agreeable?”

  “If I wanted her to wed, I would,” he lied.

  “Hmmph.”

  Sorcha was tapping furiously on his arm. Finally, he tore his gaze away from the infuriating woman riding beside him to look at his daughter.

  “Why are we arguing, is that what ye want to know?” he asked Sorcha. When she nodded, he said, “Because Mistress Glynis is stubborn as a mule and can’t see what is good for her.”

  He repeated it in three languages to be sure Glynis did not miss his meaning.

  * * *

  Sorcha had fallen asleep with her head in Glynis’s lap long ago, and Bessie was yawning beside her, while the men took turns telling stories. Glynis had steeled herself against Alex attempting to get her alone on this, their last night before reaching Inveraray Castle, but he appeared in no hurry to leave the main campfire.

  She should rouse Sorcha and Bessie and go off to bed, but she was enjoying the tales. If she were truthful, she was only waiting to hear Alex. No one could tell a story like he did—and it gave her an excuse to watch him.

  When at last it was Alex’s turn, Glynis smiled in anticipation.

  “Since we are about to visit the Campbells, I’ll tell ye the true story about how the Campbell chieftain’s brother became the Thane of Cawdor.”

  Alex stretched out his legs, settling himself for a long tale. As he told it, his voice carried around the circle, drawing them in and warming Glynis as much as the fire.

  “Seventeen years ago, the last Thane of Cawdor died, leaving no heir but a wee red-haired babe. Her name was Muriel, and she was the last of her line, the sole heiress to the ancient seat of Cawdor.

  “Chieftains from all over the Highlands started scheming, each set on making a match between young Muriel and his son—for whatever man the wee lass wed would become the next Thane of Cawdor. The lass was but a babe, so they had plenty of time to work their plans, or so they thought.

  “But all that land and wealth in the hands of one wee lass proved too great a temptation to the Campbells. One day, when wee Muriel was four years old, her nursemaid took her outside Cawdor Castle to enjoy the fine weather. And that’s when a party of Campbells, who had been waiting for just such an opportunity, burst out of the woods and stole her away.”

  Glynis gasped, and Alex’s eyes twinkled at her as he met her gaze across the fire.

  “Muriel’s uncles gave chase, of course. The Campbells were far from home, and it looked as though Muriel’s clansmen would catch them. Bu
t the Campbells saw them coming and inverted a large iron kettle on the ground. Then one of the Campbell men ordered all seven of his sons to defend the kettle to the death, pretending wee Muriel was inside it.

  “The seven sons fought hard, and every one of them died. When Muriel’s clansmen lifted the kettle to rescue her, they found nothing but the green grass on the ground. While they had been fighting the seven brothers, the rest of the Campbell party had escaped with the lass.”

  “’Tis a long journey from Cawdor Castle to the Campbell lands,” one of the men around the campfire said. “Did wee Muriel survive?”

  “Ye will have to decide that for yourselves,” Alex said. “When one of the Campbell warriors asked what would happen if the child died before she reached marriageable age, the chieftain said…”

  Alex paused until someone called out, “Come, Alex, tell us what he said.”

  “The chieftain said that the wee heiress would never die so long as a red-haired lass could be found on either side of Loch Awe—which, as ye know, is in the heart of Campbell territory.”

  “Conniving bastard,” one man said amidst the laughter around the campfire.

  “It was to prevent just such a scheme,” Alex said, lifting his finger, “that Muriel’s nursemaid had the foresight to bite off the end of the wee lass’s finger when she saw the Campbells burst out of the wood.”

  “Ach, the poor child!” Bessie murmured beside Glynis.

  “Now do ye suppose, that after the trouble the Campbells went through to get their hands on Muriel, they would let a missing joint on one wee finger come between them and all that land and wealth?”Alex let his gaze move slowly around the circle. “Who’s to say that they didn’t find another red-haired lass and bite off the end of her finger?”

  There was a long silence around the campfire.

  “But Muriel did live?” Glynis could not help asking.

  “Most believe she did,” Alex said. “The red-haired lass was raised in the Campbell chieftain’s household, and on her twelfth birthday she was wed to the chieftain’s son John.”