Her outburst stunned Sinjun. She sounded as if she were the wounded party. Didn’t she know he had cared for her more than any other woman of his acquaintance? Had that been her plan all along? Make him care, then leave him to wonder why she had abandoned him? Was that to be his punishment for ignoring her all these years?
“You used me!” Sinjun charged.
“I took nothing that wasn’t rightfully mine,” Christy contended. “Is your pride wounded, Sinjun? Perhaps it was time a woman gave you your comeuppance. Lord Sin. Bah! Lord Decadence more aptly describes you.”
Rage seethed through Sinjun. He didn’t lose his temper often, but Christy was sorely trying him. It took all his willpower to keep from exploding. Mouth taut, expression stiff and cold, he turned his back on her and walked away.
Damn him! Christy silently ranted. Why couldn’t he have remained in London? She had already set her mind to live the rest of her days without Sinjun. Then he’d barged into her secure life, bringing turmoil, along with painful memories of the man who had made a woman of her and taught her passion.
Her clansmen were more than a little disturbed over Sinjun’s arrival. Calum had even threatened his life. Why had Sinjun come alone, without guards or soldiers? He was but one Englishman among scores of Highlanders who hated the English passionately.
Christy sighed. She knew Sinjun would never forgive her for lying to him, and she really couldn’t blame him. But, oh, he made her so angry. The world didn’t revolve around Lord Sin. Had he expected her to welcome him into her bed last night? She grinned as she recalled his colorful curses when he’d tried to enter her chamber and found the door locked. What really galled was the knowledge that she had had to force herself to lock him out of the room. From the moment he’d entered Glenmoor, she’d hungered to touch him, to get close enough to inhale the male muskiness of his scent, which had haunted her dreams. The need had been so compelling that she’d had to force her anger to keep from surrendering to him.
If Sinjun had wanted her because he loved her, she would have welcomed him into her bed and into her heart. But Sinjun wasn’t a man easily satisfied by one woman. She might satisfy him while he remained at Glenmoor, but when he returned to London, Lord Sin would continue his wicked ways.
Her hand went to her stomach, where his bairn grew. He might not want the child, but she did, fiercely. The future Macdonald. He or she would inherit Glenmoor and give the clan back its pride, its heritage. Sinjun’s heir was the clan’s salvation, its destiny. More importantly, the child would be a part of Sinjun, someone to love after he was gone. It would be so easy to give Sinjun her heart were he of a mind to remain faithful to one woman. She vowed to raise her bairn to live up to the potential Sinjun himself would never attain.
Sinjun’s mount delighted him. He had no idea Glenmoor possessed a stable of such fine horseflesh. His stable, he reminded himself. Everything he’d just seen—the land upon which he rode, the village, the church, the fat sheep being driven down to the valley for the winter, was his. His chest swelled with a pride he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d never liked the wild, windswept Scottish Highlands, or its savage inhabitants, but now, a strange sense of peace, of possessiveness, made him see it differently.
“The moors are nay so beautiful this time of year, yer lordship,” Rory said by way of conversation. “In the spring they are covered with heather. ‘Tis a wondrous sight.”
Sinjun thought the hills and moors rather desolate this time of year, but no less beautiful. It was a different kind of beauty. Stark, comfortless … compelling. The trees had lost their leaves and the air was crisp with the promise of winter. He could hear the rush of water in the nearby loch and feel the salt spray upon his cheeks. It was so invigorating that Sinjun wasn’t surprised to discover he was hungry again.
Sinjun loved horses, and he rode in the park daily for exercise, but loping over leagues of open land, beneath a sky so blue it dazzled the eyes, was exhilarating. He wondered now why he’d taken such a strong dislike to the Highlands.
“Are those Glenmoor sheep grazing in the valley?” Sinjun asked.
“Aye. Clansmen tend the sheep for ye and receive a portion of the profit when the wool is sold. Some of the sheep will be butchered for meat and shared with the crofters.”
“Were the shepherds paid after the shearing this year?”
“Aye, but Sir Oswald said the market wasn’t good and they received less than they had expected. Then rents and taxes were raised. ‘Twas what started talk of rebellion. The Cameron urged everyone to protest by withholding the quarterly dues, and we all agreed.”
Sinjun mulled that over for a while, until they reached the village perched on a hillside below Glenmoor. There couldn’t have been more than two dozen stone cottages clustered together haphazardly. It was a poor village, Sinjun noted. The thatched roofs of nearly every cottage were badly in need of repairs.
People stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Their silent animosity was so potent that Sinjun was glad Rory was riding at his side. He stopped often to converse with the people, but most turned their backs and refused to acknowledge him.
“Not a very friendly lot, are they?” Sinjun said.
“Can ye blame them?” Rory replied. “An Englishman now owns them and the land they once called their own. The Macdonald does all she can to ease their suffering, but their children are still dying from starvation.” He sent Sinjun an aggrieved look. “And ye wonder why we hate Englishmen. When the land belonged to us we only fought amongst ourselves. We stole our neighbor’s livestock and they stole ours, it was a way of life. But we never went hungry.”
Sinjun took a closer look at the cottages and decided that something would have to be done before first snowfall.
“Can men of the village make the necessary repairs to the cottages?”
“Aye, but there isna enough thatch to go around and the homeowners canna afford to buy material. Many will die of ague when the winter snows come.”
“I will pay for repairs and give the workmen a decent wage,” Sinjun said, grateful for the gold sovereigns in his trunk. “Can you arrange it?”
“Ye want to pay for repairs out of yer own pocket, yer lordship?”
“ Tis what I said.” A passel of ragged children stopped their game of tag to stare at him. Sinjun was appalled at their lack of proper doming. Some even wore animal skins fashioned into tunics and breeches. He made a mental note to speak to Christy about the situation in the village.
“This village is the Macdonald stronghold, yer lordship,” Rory said. “Would ye like to visit the Cameron, Ranald, and Mackenzie strongholds?”
“Tomorrow, Rory, I’ve seen enough for today. Let’s head back to Glenmoor. I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”
“Why dinna ye say ye were hungry?” Rory asked as he reached into the bag he carried at his waist and pulled out a bannock. “Have a bannock, yer lordship. Nothing like an oatcake to stave off hunger pangs. I never leave home without a few in me vittles bag.”
Sinjun accepted the oatcake with misgiving. He’d never liked oats in any form, considering it food fit for horses, not for humans, but he was too hungry to argue. He paused but a moment before biting off a chunk and chewing. Though somewhat dry, the taste wasn’t at all bad. In fact, he finished that and accepted another as they rode back to Glenmoor.
“Did ye mean what ye said about repairing the cottages?” Rory asked, as if unable to credit Sinjun’s generosity.
Sinjun sent Rory a sharp look. “What made you think I was lying?”
Rory shrugged. “Yer English,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Sinjun chewed that over for a moment, then said, “You don’t like me, do you? I sensed that in London.”
“Ye’ve given me no reason to like ye, yer lordship.”
“You knew what Christy intended, didn’t you?”
“Not at first. She told me after I spoke out about yer visits to her townhouse in the middle of the nigh
t. I dinna like it, but ’twas not my place to question the laird. Margot and I are handfasted, she would have had my hide if I betrayed the laird.”
“Tell me about the Camerons,” Sinjun said.
“They’re warriors, not sheepherders or farmers, though ’tis how they earn their keep. They’ve been angry ever since old Laird Angus made Christy his heir and successor. Calum Cameron has been plotting ever since to cast Christy aside and make himself laird of the clan.”
“Could he have done mat?” Sinjun asked.
“He needed the Macdonalds, Ranalds, and Mackenzies behind him. Fortunately, most, except maybe the Mackenzies, are loyal to Christy and thwarted Calum’s efforts. Then Calum decided he would become laird through marriage to Christy. But he couldna convince Christy to seek an annulment. Then the quarterly levies were raised again and those originally opposed to Calum agreed with him that the clan needed a male leader. They wanted a warrior who would fight for their rights. That’s when Christy and Margot hatched the plan to seek ye in London. Ye know the rest, yer lordship.”
“Indeed,” Sinjun said dryly.
Though he understood Christy’s motives for pursuing him in London, he had a hard time forgiving her for lying. She had tricked him to get her with child, and that hurt his pride. She had wanted him for only one thing, while he had truly desired her. It had all been a clever ruse, and he had landed in her bed. Well, things had changed. He was at Glenmoor now, and whether Christy liked it or not, he was going to make damn sure she and her clansmen knew he was in control.
Sinjun breathed deeply of the cold, crisp air, rather enjoying the outing. His mount was spirited, the company wasn’t bad, considering his lack of popularity among these Highlanders, and Christy was waiting for him at Glenmoor.
Christy was sweeping the cobblestones in the courtyard when Sinjun and Rory returned. As Rory led the horses away, she leaned on the broom, watching Sinjun. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully when she saw him gaze intently at Glenmoor’s ivy-covered walls, as if assessing their worth. She knew Glenmoor meant nothing to him, but to her it was everything. She still couldn’t conceal the surge of pride she felt for her ancestral home.
He saw her then, and she walked over to join him. His negligent posture in no way concealed the tension in his coiled muscles, or the way he looked at her, like a predator focusing on his prey. Her steps slowed as she recalled the intimate details of their affair in London. She sighed expansively, remembering how the crisp hair on his chest teased her naked breasts, the way the taut muscles of his buttocks flexed beneath her hands, his hard, hair-roughened thighs. Nothing had prepared her for Lord Sin’s devastating charm. For three wonderful months she had known both desire and fulfillment. And now she knew despair. Sinjun hated her, and she had to harden her heart against him before she yearned for things that could never be.
“Did you enjoy your ride?” Christy asked when Sinjun continued to stare at her with a curious glint in his eye.
“Aye, most enlightening. Rory made an excellent guide.” He stared at her breasts, then let his gaze wander down to her stomach. “Are you well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Come inside with me.” It was more an order than a request.
“Now?”
“Now,” Sinjun said. “We need to talk. Your chamber will do.”
Christy had to run to keep up with him. “Can’t we discuss whatever it is you wish to talk about in the hall?”
“No.” He started up the stairs and didn’t stop until he reached her chamber. He opened the door and waited until she went inside. Christy’s heart began to pound. Being alone with Sinjun was dangerous. His potent sensuality had led lesser women than her to perdition.
She walked to the window and gazed out over the land that had been in her family for generations. Sinjun came up to stand beside her. She felt his heat, sensed his anger even before he spoke.
“You locked me out of your chamber last night.”
“You were angry. Did you expect me to welcome you?”
His voice was clipped, taut with tension. “I liked Flora better.”
Christy shrugged. “Flora was a myth. I gave you what I thought you wanted and…” Her words fell away.
“… I gave you what you wanted.”
Her jaw firmed. “Aye. I won’t deny it. I’m sorry if it distresses you, my lord, but do not concern yourself with the child. Our bairn will not lack love.”
“A child needs a father,” Sinjun said. She saw his clenched fists and wondered what he expected from her. Not love, obviously. The world was filled with countless women Sinjun had yet to meet and love.
“I … assumed you wouldn’t want to be bothered.”
“You assume wrong. I intend to be at Glenmoor for the birth of my child. Then perhaps I’ll take him to London, where he’ll be raised among civilized people. I daresay Julian will stop carping at me if I become a family man.”
Christy gasped and flung herself at him, her eyes wild, fierce, her small hands beating against his chest. “No! You can’t do that! I won’t let you.”
“Cease!” Sinjun said, grasping Christy’s flailing wrists. “We’ll discuss this when you’ve calmed down. I’m probably stuck here for the winter anyway. Come spring, I should have a better understanding of the unrest I’ve witnessed at Glenmoor.”
“I warn you, Sinjun,” Christy hissed, “take my bairn and you’ll live to regret it.”
An elegant brow shot upward. “You should have considered the consequences before you hatched your scatterbrained plan to become pregnant.”
“You were never supposed to know! Or care,” she added.
Still holding her wrists firmly within his grasp, Sinjun pulled her against him. He felt her heat, inhaled her tantalizing scent, and his shaft jerked in response. The hard little swelling below her waist intrigued him. He wanted to see her naked, to touch the place where his child grew. Her breasts were larger than he remembered, and the need to explore them was so urgent that he released her wrists and cupped them. He felt her nipples pebble beneath his palms, and his eyes darkened with desire.
No matter how angry he was at her for deceiving him, he couldn’t stop his body’s response to her soft, fecund curves. As swiftly as it had come, his anger dissipated. He ached to push himself into her tight sheath, to taste her sweet passion, and to give them both what they so obviously needed.
Christy must have read his mind, for moments before he would have swept her into his arms, she pulled away, her face set in stubborn lines.
“No! I won’t let you do this! I’m nothing to you but a warm body. You’ve never wanted a wife or family. What kind of man are you? If you recall, you agreed to my terms to end the affair when the time came for me to leave. Whether or not I became pregnant during that time was a problem I would handle alone.
“I cannot count the times you told me how well your marriage suited you because your wife made no demands upon you. All I wanted from you was an heir for Glenmoor, and someone of my own to love.” She touched her stomach. “Through your bairn, a Macdonald heir will regain ownership of Glenmoor.”
“Damn you!” Sinjun snarled.
“No! Damn you! You lied to me.”
Sinjun could find no fault with Christy’s logic. He had indeed agreed to her terms. He’d wanted her so badly he would have agreed to anything. It was a devil’s pact he’d made. He remembered thinking that her husband had even less morals than he did. His conscience had pricked him, but lust had won out. He realized too late his thinking had been faulty.
Sinjun’s introspection was interrupted when Christy fled through the door. Muttering to himself about the failings of women, he followed her down to the main hall, where he found Rory waiting for him.
“When do ye want the workmen to begin the repairs?” Rory asked.
“As soon as possible,” Sinjun replied. “I understand winters in the Highlands can be harsh.”
Rory nodded and left the hall. “What repairs?” Christy
wanted to know.
“I’m paying for repairs to be made to the cottages in the Macdonald stronghold. There is much to be done and the need seemed urgent. I haven’t visited the Camerons, Ranalds, or Mackenzies yet, but I’ll get to them as soon as I can.”
“There is no coin for building materials,” Christy demurred.
“Let me worry about that.” He sniffed appreciatively of the tempting aroma coming from the kitchen. “I’m hungry. What time do we dine? Will I have time to bathe?”
“We eat early, but there’s sufficient time for a bath. I’ll send the kitchen boys up with the hip tub and hot water. Excuse me, I’ll see to it now.”
Sinjun caught her wrist. “I’ll need help bathing. I left my valet behind.”
“Everyone at Glenmoor helps themselves,” Christy informed him.
“Will you scrub my back? Tis no more than any husband would expect of his wife.”
He watched her face turn red and hoped she wouldn’t refuse. Her answer, when it came, was grudgingly given. “Aye. I’ll ask Mary for the stiff wire brush she uses to scrub pots.”
Her parting shot brought a shout of laughter. No matter how angry he was at Christy he knew she would never bore him. More to the point, he didn’t know how long he could keep his hands off her. After experiencing Flora’s uninhibited passion, he couldn’t wait to discover if a difference existed between Flora the mistress and Christy the wife.
After his initial anger had dissipated and calmness prevailed, he saw no reason why he and Christy shouldn’t enjoy one another in the same way they had in London.
He wondered how long it would take him to persuade Christy to let him share her bed. He chuckled to himself. It wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth having was ever easy.
Chapter 7
Sinjun’s mind drifted as he leaned his head back against the rim of the tub and waited for Christy. He wasn’t certain she would come, but the thrill of anticipation was worth the wait. Pregnancy hadn’t dimmed her beauty. If anything, it had enhanced it. And to think he had avoided Christy all these years because he’d remembered her as a nasty, red-haired hoyden with little to commend her. No, that wasn’t entirely true. He hadn’t wanted a wife intruding upon his lifestyle. He’d wanted freedom.
A Taste of Sin Page 10
