The Sinner

by Margaret Mallory

  * * *

  Glynis lay on her side watching the pink dawn sky through the narrow window. Her husband’s arm felt heavy slung across her ribs. With every breath she took, the weight seemed to grow heavier and heavier until she felt as if she were wheezing. But she knew it was not his arm, but the weight on her heart that made it so hard to breathe.

  She told herself not to rush to judgment. There could be a dozen reasons why Alex crept into bed with the dawn. And yet, she could think of only one. It throbbed in her head. Another woman, another woman.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Please, God, don’t let it be true.

  If Alex had planned to meet a lover, that would explain why he was distracted all through supper last night. And then there was his vague explanation about needing to visit a tenant, something he never did in the evening. And his parting words: Don’t wait up.

  Alex was sleeping like the dead—or like a man who had spent the night sating himself.

  Glynis could not lie here a moment longer waiting for Alex to wake up and tell her where he’d been all night. When she threw off the bedclothes and sat up, the first thing she saw was his boots. Alex had stood them neatly by the door instead of tossing them on the floor by the bed as he always did.

  Her husband had taken pains not to wake her when he came in.

  Glynis was so upset that the thought of breakfast made her ill. After grabbing an oatcake for her pocket from the kitchen, she headed out for a walk on the beach. She bid good day to the men on guard as she started through the gate, then she stopped.

  “Were ye here when my husband came in early this morning?” she asked one of the men. Her stomach sank as the guard looked away and shifted his weight from side to side.

  “Aye,” the man said, then quickly added, “but he didn’t say where he’d been.”

  Apparently, Alex did not need to say for the man to guess.

  CHAPTER 43

  Alex awoke with the sun shining on his face. He blinked to clear the images of the bloody cottage from his vision and looked about the empty bedchamber. Good God, how late had he slept?

  He was not used to waking up without Glynis, and he didn’t like it. And where in the hell were his boots? He was on his knees looking under the bed before he remembered leaving them neatly by the door. He smiled thinking how that must have pleased his orderly wife.

  His stomach rumbled, and his muscles ached as he drew a clean shirt over his head. It was a long swim last night, and he was starving.

  When he went down to the hall, Sorcha ran across the room to him. It must be noon already, for everyone was sitting at the tables, waiting for him to start the midday meal—everyone, that is, except his wife.

  He picked Sorcha up and rubbed her head with his knuckles. “Where’s your mother?”

  Sorcha pointed in the direction of the beach.

  “She must have lost track of time,” Alex said. “She does love her walks.”

  The others were waiting to eat, and the men had work to do, so Alex sat down and signaled for the meal to begin. He missed having Glynis beside him at the table, but it was just as well. He was anxious to see how Seamus and Ùna were faring. As soon as he had seen them, he would find Glynis and explain the situation to her.

  Poor Ùna. Alex hoped the lass was strong enough to recover from this horror. As he crossed the meadow to their cottage, he picked a few wildflowers for her. Most of the flowers were gone, but there were still some knapweed and devil’s bit blooming. When he reached the cottage and knocked, Ùna opened the door. She looked at the flowers he held out to her as if they were some strange gift from a fairy hill.

  “Thank ye,” she finally said in a soft voice and took them.

  Tears were streaming down her face. God help him, had the lass seen so little kindness in her young life that a handful of flowers could touch her so? Alex laid a hand on her shoulder and stepped inside.

  “The cottage looks good,” he said. “Shame about the table and chairs. I’ll bring tools next time and fix them for ye.”

  “’Tis no the first time they’ve been broken,” Seamus said.

  “For now, the two of ye must act as if nothing unusual has happened,” he reminded them. “Seamus should come up to the castle as usual. Then, after a few days, ye can ask the other fishermen if they’ve seen your father’s boat. Do ye think ye can do that?”

  “I can’t ask anyone about him,” Ùna said, shaking her head violently.

  Seamus took his sister’s hand. “I’ll do the asking.”

  Alex was starting to worry that the lass would give them away.

  “I need to tell my wife the truth about what happened,” he said. “I can’t have secrets between us.”

  “Don’t! Please!” Ùna said and backed away from him.

  “Hush now, it’s all right,” Alex said, trying to calm her.

  “I hate that ye know about it.” Her voice was shaking, and she was wringing her hands. “I can’t bear to have anyone else know. I can’t, I can’t!”

  Alex could not risk having the lass fall apart—she might end up telling everyone about murdering her father, and then he’d have an even worse mess to clean up. And Glynis couldn’t lie to save her life. If he told her, the truth would be all over her face every time she looked at Seamus or his sister.

  “All right, I won’t tell my wife just yet,” Alex said. “I’ll give ye a day to think on it, and then we’ll talk again.”

  * * *

  As Glynis paced the beach, she reminded herself that Alex had given her no cause to doubt him until now. His friendly, easy manner had deceived her at first, but beneath the charm and humor was a reliable man who took his responsibilities seriously. That was the reason his chieftain, who knew Alex as well as anyone, entrusted Dunfaileag Castle and the safety of their clansman on this island to him.

  Of course, a man could be loyal to his chieftain and not to his wife.

  Glynis pushed that thought aside. Alex had shown no signs he was tired of her yet—in bed or out of it. He would have a good explanation for where he was last night, and she’d be annoyed with herself for getting upset over nothing.

  And getting upset was not good for her baby.

  Having finally talked herself into seeing reason, Glynis left the beach. She started up the path to the castle. But when she stopped and turned to take in the view, she saw Alex. He was walking with his back to her, but with his fair hair, tall frame, and long, easy stride, he could not be mistaken for anyone else.

  Glynis ran to catch up with him. As she came closer, she saw that Alex had gathered flowers for her. Ach, her warrior had a soft heart. Glynis called to him, but he did not hear her over the wind. She smiled to herself as she decided to suggest they be truly wicked and make love outdoors in the middle of the day. They had not done that once since their journey to Edinburgh.

  Glynis put her hand up to shield her eyes as Alex approached a small cottage. All the fears that she had spent the morning pushing away now slammed into her like a crashing wave. She waited, every muscle tense, to see who would greet her husband at this lowly fisherman’s cottage.

  When the door opened, Glynis recognized Ùna’s dark golden hair. Dread clawed at her belly like a sea monster. When Alex held the flowers out to Ùna, Glynis sank to her knees in the tall grass. She felt as if a jagged blade was piercing her chest as her husband rested his hand on Ùna’s shoulder, ducked under the low doorway, and shut the cottage door behind him.

  Glynis was so light-headed that she dropped her head to her knees to keep from fainting. All the pieces fell into place. Alex’s reluctance to arrange the marriage for Peiter. Ùna’s daily visits to the castle. The lass did not avoid looking at other men because she was shy, but because she belonged to the warrior who was the keeper of Dunfaileag Castle.

  Glynis covered her face with hands. The lass was so young!

  Although Glynis had been lulled into trusting Alex, down deep she knew that she would never be enough for him. Eventua
lly, Alex’s desire for her would fade, and he would take another. And then another. But Glynis thought he would go to a woman like Catherine Campbell or that Mary back on Skye.

  Ùna was just a poor fisherman’s daughter. Glynis never, ever thought Alex would take advantage of an inexperienced young lass who was in no position to refuse him.

  How had she been so mistaken about what kind of man her husband was?

  Glynis vomited into the grass until there was nothing left inside her. Then she sat on the ground with her head between her knees. When she had the strength to stand, she rose on shaky legs.

  Nothing in her life would be as hard as what she had to do now.

  She did not allow herself to look back at the cottage where her husband was sinning with a sweet, golden-haired lass. Instead, Glynis balled her hands into fists, stiffened her back, and started back up the path to the castle to pack her things.

  She would leave this very day.

  CHAPTER 44

  Alex sensed there was a bad wind blowing his way as soon as he entered the gate. The men avoided his gaze, and the women sent him accusatory glances from the corners of their eyes. Surely, the body could not have been found already. Alex went over in his mind how he’d tied the rock to it.

  He looked for Glynis in the hall. When he did not find her there, he went up to their bedchamber, taking the steps two at a time, and flung the door open. Glynis was on her knees before an open chest, surrounded by gowns. When she looked up, he saw that she had been weeping.

  “Glynis, what happened?”

  “Perhaps ye should tell me,” she said in a strained voice. She picked up a gown and folded it into a neat rectangle with swift, sharp movements.

  “Why are ye angry?” he asked. “And what are ye doing with your clothes?”

  “I am leaving.”

  Panic rose in Alex’s throat. “I thought we were past this, Glynis. Why would ye leave me? How can ye?”

  When she looked up, her eyes were wet but sharp as daggers. “I told ye I would leave if ye took another woman.”

  “But I haven’t!” Alex said. “I gave ye a promise, and I swear I haven’t broken it.”

  “Another wife might not be troubled by it,” she said, as she folded another gown into a perfect square. “But I told ye I would leave if ye were unfaithful, and I am.”

  “Who said something to make ye believe this?” he demanded. “Ye accuse me without even asking me for the truth.”

  “So I’ll ask ye,” she said, glaring up at him. “Where were ye last night?”

  Ach, the one thing he could not tell her. He had given his word. Besides, Alex was not entirely certain Glynis would think any better of him for covering up a murder and dropping the body at sea. He scratched his neck as he tried to think how best to answer her. It crossed his mind to make up a good story, but he’d promised never to lie to her.

  “I can’t say now, but I will tell ye as soon as I can.”

  “I thought ye would be quicker with a lie, being such a good storyteller,” she said. “But ye must be tired.”

  “I don’t take well to being called a liar.” Alex was starting to get angry himself. “And stop folding your damned clothes.”

  “Ye are a liar,” she said, her voice breaking. “I saw ye myself this afternoon.”

  “Then your eyes deceive ye.”

  “Ye brought flowers to her cottage.”

  Alex could not believe what she was accusing him of. “Ye think I’ve taken Ùna to bed?” he said, spreading out his arms. “Why, she’s just a child!”

  “Seventeen is no child.” Glynis pressed her lips together and resumed her methodical folding.

  It felt like a blow to the chest to learn that Glynis believed he would lure a young lass to his bed who was so fearful of men she could not look one in the eye. After knowing him this long—after living with him as his wife—how could Glynis think so little of him?

  “I won’t be here when Ùna brings your child to the castle,” Glynis said, as she slammed a pair of shoes into the chest. “Did ye think I would be happy to care for all your bastards?”

  The blood in Alex’s veins went as cold as January ice. “Is that how ye feel about my daughter?”

  “Not Sorcha,” Glynis said quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I want a houseful of children reminding me of your infidelities.”

  Alex banged the lid of the chest shut with his fist and picked Glynis up by her arms. “I have done nothing wrong, so ye will not leave.”

  * * *

  Alex sat in the hall drinking. From here, he could see the stairs and be sure his wife did not leave the castle without his knowledge. When Bessie started into the hall with Sorcha, she took one look at him and hurried Sorcha outside. The rest of the household showed the good sense to leave him alone as well.

  Outrage pounded through Alex’s head, blocking out all else. He had complied with Glynis’s rules, done nothing to merit her accusations and ill regard. If she came down the stairs looking for a servant to carry her trunk to the nearest boat, they were going to have one hell of a fight.

  All Alex had wanted was a peaceful home for his daughter. Was that too much to ask? No shouting matches, just a steady woman who wouldn’t throw crockery—and who wouldn’t abandon them. Instead, he had gotten exactly what he did not want: thrown out of his wife’s bed, fighting and shouting, and his wife packing to leave him. He had spent his entire life trying to avoid living as his parents had, only to end up the same.

  Hours went by. Alex heard noise coming from down below and suspected the entire household was crowded in the kitchen between the spits and the worktables eating their supper. And still, Glynis did not show her face. At least she had not attempted to leave.

  Alex poured the last of his jug of whiskey into his cup and drank it down. Perhaps Glynis regretted her harsh judgment of him—as well she should. She was a prideful woman. Likely, she was stewing up there, gathering herself to apologize to him.

  He deserved an apology.

  And he was tired of waiting for it. He would go up there now, and they would settle this trouble between them. He marched up the stairs to their bedchamber door and lifted the latch. But when he pushed, the door did not open. He shook the handle, not believing she would do it.

  Glynis had barred the goddamned door.

  “Glynis!” he shouted as he beat his fist against it. “Open this door to your husband. Now.”

  “Go away.” Her voice came faintly through the door.

  “Ye will regret this, I swear it.”

  Alex never got upset, but he was upset now. Anger pounded through every bone and muscle as he stormed down the stairs, grabbed an axe from the wall, and stomped back up with it.

  “Stand back from the door!” he shouted.

  Crack! He swung the axe so hard that it reverberated up his arms. Glynis did not scream, proving his wife had ice in her veins.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! His violence against the door felt good. When the boards gave way with a satisfying crunch, he reached his arm through the hole and slid the bar back. Then he kicked the door with such force that it swung open and banged against the wall.

  And there, sitting on her trunk with her arms crossed, was his wife. He was a wronged husband, an angry man with an axe in his hands, and Glynis glared at him as if she had nothing to fear. She didn’t, of course—but she should have had the good sense to look frightened. Did she not respect him at all?

  He crossed the room and stood over her. His chest was heaving, his ears rang. The only sign that an enraged Highland warrior concerned Glynis one whit was a slight twitch in her left eye.

  “Ye will not lock our bedchamber door to me again,” he said.

  “I told ye,” she said, calm as could be, “I wouldn’t share a bed with ye if ye took another woman.”

  “I promised ye I wouldn’t take another woman,” he said, “and I haven’t done so.”

  “Ye expect me to believe that?” She stood up, clenching her fists at her
sides. “A man like you will say anything.”

  “A man like me?” Anger tightened his throat, stretching out his words. “Just what do ye mean by that, Glynis MacNeil?”

  “I mean a man whose word means nothing,” she said. “I should have married Lord D’Arcy. He was an honorable man. He would have kept his vows.”

  Alex felt as if his head were exploding. Until now, he had believed D’Arcy had told her of his true intentions.

  “Perhaps I’ll take D’Arcy up on his offer now,” she said.

  “What, and be his whore?” Alex said. “Because that is what D’Arcy was offering ye. He would not have said vows to ye, as I did.”

  Upset as Alex was with her, he would not have told Glynis of D’Arcy’s insult even now, except that he couldn’t trust her not to go traipsing off across the breadth of Scotland to find the Frenchman.

  “Nay, D’Arcy’s intentions were good,” Glynis said.

  “Ye are a fool, woman,” Alex said. “D’Arcy has a wife in France.”

  Glynis’s lips parted, and she blinked several times. In a whisper, she said, “That cannot be true.”

  Her obvious disappointment cut Alex to the core.

  “Aye, your white knight has a wife—probably one who came with a title,” he spat out. “And when she joins him in Scotland, that sense of honor that ye so esteem would require D’Arcy to send ye away. Ye see, he would think it cruel to upset his wife by keeping his whore in his home while she was there.”

  Glynis sat down on the trunk with a thump.

  “The French don’t treat their bastard children like Highland men do,” Alex continued. “Though D’Arcy might feel honor-bound to provide for any bairns ye had by him, he would never claim your children or allow them to set foot in his home and contaminate his legitimate heirs.”

  Alex saw the shock in her eyes, but it was nothing to the well of pain in his chest.