A Taste of Sin

by Mason, Connie

  “I told you, Calum, Lord Derby and I are no longer estranged. I carry his bairn.”

  Calum’s expression turned fierce. “Where is the bastard, then? Why is he not here with ye? Yer lying, lass. There is no bairn, no reconciliation. No Englishman is worthy of ye.”

  His heavy hand came down hard on her shoulder. She flinched but made no other concession to his strength. “Ye know I want ye, lass.”

  “You want to be laird,” Christy charged. “ Tis all you’ve ever wanted. The Highlands will never be ours again in our lifetime if the English have anything to say about it.”

  “The clan needs a man to lead the fight against oppression and the unfair levies that line Lord Derby’s pockets.”

  Christy bristled. “What can you do that I haven’t already done? I’ve verbally protested to Sir Oswald. We’ve even withheld the quarterly levies.”

  “A man would lead a rebellion. I would lead a rebellion,” he said, his massive chest swelling with pride.

  “What good would that do us?” Christy challenged. “Lives would be lost, innocent lives, perhaps even those of women and children. Did you learn nothing from Culloden?”

  “I learned not to trust Englishmen, lass. Ye forget, I lost loved ones that day, too. Why dinna ye tell me the truth, Christy? Ye never saw yer husband, did ye? Yer not expecting a bairn, are ye?”

  Christy sighed. There was no help for it. It was time to prove she hadn’t lied about her condition.

  “Give me your hand, Calum.”

  “Why?”

  “Just give me your hand.”

  He held out a callused paw, and Christy guided it to the swelling beneath her waist. Though not large, it was hard and round and could be mistaken for nothing but what it was, a bairn growing beneath her heart. Calum’s blue eyes grew as hard as diamonds and he jerked his hand away, as if scalded. His expression was so fierce that Christy feared he would strike her.

  “Damn ye to everlasting hell, Christy Macdonald! Why did ye do it? Why did ye play whore to an English swine?”

  Christy raised her chin defiantly. “Sinjun and I are married. We reached an agreement, Calum. Since he prefers to remain in London and I at Glenmoor, we agreed to live apart. He gave me leave to rule Glenmoor as I please. There will be a Macdonald laird to take my place after I’m gone,” she vowed, touching her stomach.

  “What if yer bairn is a lassie?”

  “So what if it is? Am I not my grandfather’s heir? The sex of the bairn will make no difference.”

  “Yer grandfather did ye no favors,” Calum said sourly. “He should have made me his heir.”

  Christy bristled indignantly. “You still don’t understand, do you? The land is no longer ours to claim. It was taken from the clan as punishment for their support of Prince Charles, the pretender to the throne. Wouldn’t you rather have an absentee landowner than one who rules you with an iron fist? One day my bairn will become laird. He will inherit Glenmoor from his father and a Macdonald will once again own the land.”

  “Englishmen owning Scottish soil is an abomination,” Calum muttered darkly. “Ye were supposed to ask yer husband for an annulment and demand that he reduce the high levies we pay him. But what did ye do? Ye fell into his bed like a mare in heat. Have ye no shame, Christy Macdonald? Yer husband is a debaucher of women, a rake, a man without morals or scruples. He cares nothing for ye.”

  Christy winced. Calum’s words held more truth than fiction. Doubtless Sinjun had forgotten she existed hours after she’d disappeared. She held no fear that Sinjun would come to Glenmoor. Should he by chance try to find her, which she seriously doubted, he would look to Cornwall, not Glenmoor.

  Christy tried not to think of Sinjun with other women, but it was impossible to imagine Lord Sin without a beautiful woman on his arm or in his bed. Would he return to Lady Violet? Or would he find a new mistress to flaunt before the ton?

  “Perhaps what you say is true, Calum, but an annulment is no longer an option. I am carrying Lord Derby’s child. Nothing you can do or say will change that.”

  Calum surged to his feet. “We’ll see about that, lass. The clansmen are awaiting ye at Glenmoor. Macdonalds, Camerons, Ranalds, and Mackenzies. They’ve come to protest the excessive levies. Ye’d best come along and try to placate them.”

  The weather that had been merely threatening earlier suddenly turned dark and foreboding. Before she reached the ancient fortress where she had been born, the skies opened up.

  Glenmoor was a desolate place, Sinjun thought as his coach clattered down the nearly nonexistent road to the fortress. The weather had turned raw, and rain pelted the land.

  “Abominable country, rotten weather,” Sinjun muttered, cursing his willful wife who had brought him to this inhospitable land. Had he not been required to travel to the Highlands to learn if the rumors about Christy were true, he might have gone to Cornwall to find Flora. He’d tried to tell himself he didn’t care about her, but deep in his heart he knew better. God, he remembered every little detail about her. The silky texture of her skin, the way her nipples peaked at his slightest touch, the moist tightness of her body as he sheathed himself inside her.

  He groaned and adjusted his breeches to accommodate his growing arousal. Just thinking about her made his shaft hard as a pike. He’d thought a return to debauchery would turn his thoughts away from the woman who had captured his fancy so completely, but he’d been wrong. He’d been angry, was still damn angry. Flora had made him care about her, and he didn’t know how to handle rejection. Never again would he allow himself to care for a woman. He wasn’t a violent man, but he was so furious with Flora that were he to see her now he wouldn’t be responsible for his conduct.

  The coach pulled up before the stone steps of Glenmoor. Sinjun leaped down, instructing John Coachman to take the horses to shelter and present himself in the kitchen for a hot meal. Then he made a dash up the steps. He flung the heavy wooden door open and encountered pure chaos. The main hall was packed with men, women, and children. A cacophony of angry voices bounced off the walls. Curious, he moved closer. No one noticed him as he paused just inside the hall to listen.

  “Our people canna survive the winter if we pay the levies demanded of us!” one man loudly proclaimed.

  “Our children will starve,” a woman interjected. “What kind of monster would condemn innocent children to death?”

  “Lord Derby, that’s who!” another man roared as he jumped onto a table to be better heard. “The English have raped our land, married the orphan daughters of our noblemen, and left us with nothing but our pride. When the tax collector comes around again we must defy his authority.”

  “Sir Oswald has returned to England,” a man exclaimed. “And good riddance.”

  “He’ll send the king’s soldiers,” a woman said on a sob. “Lord save us all.”

  “What the clan needs is man to lead them,” the Highlander standing on the table charged. “The Macdonald is too weak to lead the clan.”

  As if on cue, people began to shout, “Calum! Calum! Calum!”

  Calum held up his hands for quiet. “Aye, tell The Macdonald who ye want for laird. The English lord hasna set foot in Glenmoor since he was wed to The Macdonald.”

  “Calum! Calum! Calum!”

  Sinjun watched in astonishment as Calum jumped down and lifted a woman onto the table where she could be seen. Her back was to him as she confronted her angry clansmen. So this was his wife, he thought dispassionately as she raised her hands for quiet. Then she spoke, and a roaring began in his ears.

  “I am The Macdonald,” Christy said when the angry chanting subsided. “We must not lose our heads. Tis not the time for rebellion. There will be bloodshed. Women will lose their men, perhaps their own lives. Children will be without fathers and mothers. As long as I am laird, there will be no rebellion.”

  “We carina support the high levies,” a man shouted.

  “Are you willing to sacrifice your life, Donald Cameron?” Christy challen
ged. “Your wife and children will go hungry should they lose your support.”

  “‘Tis easy for ye to say,” came Donald’s angry reply. “Ye have an allowance from yer husband. Ye dinna have to pay taxes or rent. I say we set aside The Macdonald and choose another laird from our ranks.”

  “Listen, all of you.” She touched her stomach. “I carry the Macdonald heir. He or she will be your protection for the future. For now, all I can say is that Lord Derby has promised to look into the unfair levies.”

  Sinjun sucked in a startled breath. He knew that voice! Little by little he recognized other things about The Macdonald. The shimmering waves of copper-colored hair, the trim curves, the regal bearing. Bloody hell! Flora. No, not Flora, but Christy Macdonald, his very own wife, and she was carrying his child! His fists clenched at his sides and his face grew mottled. How dare she do this to him! How dare she plot behind his back!

  Everything she’d told him had been a lie. Who she was, where she lived, her elderly husband. She had a husband, all right, but he was neither old nor senile. Had he wanted to impregnate his own wife he would have done so long ago, but to be tricked like this was unconscionable. And more than a little disturbing.

  He stared at her in silent fury. His eyes froze into chips of ice, and his gaze raked her from head to toe. Did she have to look so beautiful? A length of Macdonald plaid was slung over her shoulder. Her copper hair was plaited into a single braid, and her head was topped with a chieftain’s cap adorned with a single feather.

  He felt used, helpless, as if he’d lost control of his life. He wanted to storm through the throng of people and shake her until her teeth rattled. The conniving little witch had gotten under his skin as no other woman ever had. When he recalled how distraught he’d been after she’d left him his anger intensified. Her hasty departure had left him bereft and suddenly in possession of a conscience, something Lord Sin had managed to avoid during his lifetime.

  Suddenly Christy spun around, as if sensing his presence. He saw her eyes widen, saw her mouth his name. A hush fell over the hall as his presence became known. Someone whispered his name, and it traveled through the room like wildfire. But Sinjun heard nothing, saw nothing except Christy, who teetered dangerously on the tabletop.

  The crowd parted as he started forward, his face unable to mask the seething rage in his heart. He was halfway there when Christy swayed perilously close to the edge of the table. He spit out a curse and broke into a run. He snatched her to safety scant seconds before she pitched to the floor.

  “Where is her room?” Sinjun bit out to no one in particular.

  Margot stepped forward. “Follow me, yer lordship.”

  Suddenly Calum stepped in his path. “Ye are Lord Derby?”

  “Aye. Let me pass, man.”

  “What about the levies? Ye have raised them until we canna pay them without our families suffering.

  “We will discuss it later,” Sinjun said, shoving past him. “Lead the way, Margot”

  Margot hurried up a winding stone staircase and opened the door to a large chamber at the top. Sinjun carried Christy to the bed and eased her down onto the feather mattress. Then he stepped back and stared at her through shuttered lids.

  “Does she do this often?” he asked Margot.

  “Nay, yer lordship, never before. Seeing ye at Glenmoor was a shock.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder,” Sinjun said dryly. He sent Margot a censuring look. “You were her conspirator in this ruse.”

  Margot stiffened. “Aye. ‘Tis the only way Christy could keep Calum and the others in line. They wanted her to petition for an annulment and marry a Scotsman. Calum was so determined to become laird that Christy feared he would … force her and seize power for himself.”

  Sinjun’s brows rose sharply. “Force her to bed him?”

  “Aye. ‘Tis the way of the Highlands.” Her voice hardened. “’Tis all yer fault, yer lordship. Ye should have consummated yer marriage years ago.”

  “So you and Christy plotted to trap me into getting her with child,” Sinjun charged. “Quite a story you two hatched.”

  “Aye, we did. We had to do something to keep Calum from taking her by force, or the clan from choosing another laird. She hoped having your child would settle things once and for all.”

  A movement from the bed brought Sinjun’s attention back to Christy. Her eyes were open, and she was staring at him.

  “Why did you come?” she choked out, struggling to rise.

  “Lie still,” Sinjun said, pushing her back down. “Leave us, Margot.”

  “Nay. I willna leave ye alone with her.”

  “I won’t strangle your mistress, though I must confess the urge is great.”

  Margot hesitated.

  “Go!” Sinjun roared.

  Margot turned and fled.

  “You didn’t have to frighten her,” Christy complained.

  “Nothing could frighten that one,” Sinjun scoffed as he perched on the side of the bed. “Are you feeling better?”

  Christy pushed herself up against the headboard. This time he didn’t stop her, but his fierce scowl did little to comfort her. “I’m fine.”

  “You have some explaining to do,” Sinjun said harshly.

  He was looking at her as if he hated her, and Christy’s heart sank. How could she ever make him understand? “I know you must hate me,” she began.

  “To say the least,” Sinjun snarled. “You can’t possibly know how I felt when I realized Flora and Christy were the same woman. I felt used, and the feeling is not one I enjoyed. You lied, and I, like a besotted fool, believed you.”

  Christy searched his face and realized she was happy to see him despite his anger. Her heart beat faster, and excitement danced through her veins. Her skin felt tight and hot and the flesh beneath aching. This wouldn’t do, she chided herself. She clamped her lips together and hardened her heart against him. A man like Lord Sin would only bring her grief.

  “Why are you here? You would have never known who I was had you remained in London.”

  “I’ve come because I heard that my virgin wife was expecting a child,” he spat. “I should have questioned you more closely in London. What a fool I was to accept that cock-and-bull story about a husband unable to produce an heir. I should have known it was all a pack of lies, no husband would give his wife leave to cuckold him. And to think my conscience bothered me after you left.”

  Christy reeled in the face of his rage. “Do you think we Highlanders are ignorant of what goes on in London? Lord Sin’s reputation reached me even in far-flung Glenmoor. Visitors to London delighted in regaling me with your exploits. When I learned the kind of man you’d become I had no regrets about lying to you. Would you have made love to me had you known I was your wife?”

  “That isn’t a fair question!”

  “You have never been fair to me, Sinjun,” Christy defended. “Why should I care about Lord Sin when he was having the time of his life, wallowing in debauchery and flitting from mistress to mistress while I tried to keep the clan from open rebellion? You cared nothing about Glenmoor or our problems. You’ve raised the levies to unconscionable levels in order to support your vices.”

  “If the levies were increased, I had nothing to do with the decision. Julian takes care of those things for me.”

  Christy swung her legs off the bed and lurched to her feet. “Do you always shirk responsibility?”

  “Damn you!” Sinjun railed. “Until you walked into my life things were relatively peaceful. Julian handled all aspects of family business and legal matters.”

  Christy faced him squarely, hands on hips. “Which left you more time to indulge your excesses, I’m sure. Unlike you, I have responsibilities and own up to them. There were times I needed a husband’s counsel, but where were you? Either gambling away Glenmoor’s hard-earned money or squiring your current mistress about. Not once since our unfortunate marriage did you think about me. You’re a rake with all the instincts of a rutting stal
lion.”

  Sinjun’s eyes glinted dangerously. “I let you rule Glenmoor as you pleased.”

  “And I would have continued to do so had you not decided to arrive at a most inopportune time.”

  He stared pointedly at her stomach. “My bailiff heard rumors that Christy Macdonald was carrying a child, and I hied myself up here to learn the truth for myself. I even brought a writ of annulment in case I needed to rid myself of a faithless wife should the rumor prove true.”

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “Did it hurt to think that your wife was following in your footsteps? What a hypocrite you are.”

  “It’s different for a man,” Sinjun maintained. Abruptly he changed the subject before Christy could ridicule his faulty logic. “Tell me the truth, Christy. Is it my child you carry? Or is some other man’s babe growing in your belly?”

  “English swine!” Christy blasted. “Of course the bairn is yours. How can you doubt it? Oh, how I rue the day I became your wife.”

  “No more than I,” Sinjun muttered darkly.

  “Unfortunately an annulment is no longer feasible,” Christy advised. “Our marriage has been consummated, and I’m carrying the future Macdonald.”

  “You’re carrying a Thornton. He’ll bear one of my lesser titles until he inherits mine.”

  Christy bit her lip to keep from screaming her frustration at Sinjun. Her bairn would remain in Scotland with her no matter what he decided about their marriage. The future Macdonald belonged in the Highlands, among his own people.

  “Fine,” Christy bit out. “Now you can turn around and leave. I don’t need you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Appalled at Sinjun’s arrogance, Christy couldn’t wait for him to leave. Or so she tried to tell herself. How could she have fancied herself in love with the impossible rogue who cared for nothing but his own pleasure?

  “I don’t want you here.”

  Sinjun scowled at her. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready and not before. Your clansmen appear upset with you. I think I’ll stick around a while. Perhaps I can be of some help. ‘Tis time I took an interest in my land.”