A Taste of Sin

by Mason, Connie

  “Think what you want, Sinjun,” Christy said tiredly. Her back hurt, and arguing only made it worse. “For whatever reason, you should return to London. Your brother isn’t one to take no for an answer.”

  “Will you send word as soon as the baby is born? I doubt I’ll be back in time for the birth.”

  “I’ll send Rory.”

  Sinjun nodded. “I’ll explain everything to Julian. Actually, he’ll be ecstatic to know I’m to be a father. He’s been goading me for years to consummate our marriage and settle down.”

  Christy gave him a wistful smile. “Time will tell what the future holds for us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sinjun said. “I don’t know why we are arguing. Upsetting you is the last thing I want to do. Forgive me.”

  Christy had forgiven him before he’d even asked. “Of course. Come along, I’ll help you pack. You can boost me up the stairs.”

  Christy was out of breath by the time she finished negotiating the winding stone stairs. She sat on the bed to catch her breath, watching Sinjun rummage through his trunk.

  “I’m only taking a few things in a knapsack,” he explained. “I’ve plenty of clothes in London, though I doubt they’ll accommodate the new muscles I seem to have acquired.”

  “What’s that?” Christy asked as an official-looking document drifted from the trunk onto the floor. Sinjun picked up the document, looked at it, and handed it to her.

  “I forgot about this. It’s the writ of annulment I brought from London for your signature. After I learned Flora and Christy were the same person, and that you were expecting my child, I packed the annulment away and forgot about it. You can do what you want about it.”

  Christy thought about it a moment. “Put it back in the trunk for now. You might need it one day.”

  He sent her an inscrutable look and restored it to the trunk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He returned his attention to the trunk. “These will do,” he said, placing a small pile of clothing on the bed.

  “I’ll pack your things in the knapsack while you inform John Coachman that you’ll be leaving with him tomorrow,” Christy said.

  He grasped her hands and pulled her against him. “Are you sure this is what you want, sweetheart? I can tell Julian to go to hell.”

  ‘Tis what you want, Christy thought. “No, your brother needs you. I’d hate to think that a scoundrel like Sir Oswald could go free without your testimony. He deserves to be punished for what he’s done to you and my clansmen.”

  She felt the warmth of Sinjun’s kiss upon her lips and refused to let herself cry. He would return, she told herself. And if he didn’t, it wasn’t the end of the world. She would still have his bairn to love.

  Christy slept in Sinjun’s arms that night. Making love was out of the question, but they kissed and cuddled until she finally fell asleep. She awoke in the middle of the night with a backache. Her restlessness awakened Sinjun, and he asked what troubled her. She lied and said she was too uncomfortable to sleep.

  When morning came, she put on a cheery smile and kissed Sinjun good-bye. She lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave as she watched him disappear over the horizon.

  “That’s the last we’ll see of his lordship,” Margot said dryly.

  Christy didn’t respond. What could she say, when Margot could be right? As she turned away, she felt a twinge in her back and grimaced.

  Margot saw and sent Christy a sharp look. “Are ye all right, lass? Ye look like yer hurting.”

  “Tis nothing, Margot. I’ve been having back pains since yesterday.”

  “Perhaps ye should tell Mary.” She turned Christy toward the kitchen.

  “Aye,” Christy said, glancing over her shoulder for a last glimpse at Sinjun before following Margot into the kitchen.

  Over her pots and pans, Mary studied Christy’s face, felt her distended stomach, and asked a few pertinent questions.

  “It willna be long now, lass,” she predicted. “Why dinna ye tell his lordship afore he left?”

  “Sinjun had to leave, Mary. I accepted that. I didn’t want him to stay with me for the bairn’s sake. You’ve all seen how restless he’s been this winter.” She heaved a tremulous sigh. “I never really believed he would be content at Glenmoor. City life has more to offer a man like Sinjun.”

  Mary clucked her tongue. “Dinna fret, lass. We’ll take care of ye. Yer clan needs ye even if yer husband doesna.”

  Christy took that thought to her empty bed that night. Deep in her heart she wanted to believe Sinjun would return, but she had to be practical. She might never see Sinjun again except for brief visits to see his bairn. It would be painful to live with the knowledge that Sinjun would always have a mistress in London.

  A sharp pain in her lower abdomen banished her dismal thoughts. She tried to settle herself into a more comfortable position, but the pain persisted. She suffered in silence until dawn, finally acknowledging that she was in the early stages of labor. She was writhing in agony when Margot found her a short time later.

  Both Mary and the midwife were sent for. Mary arrived first and insisted that Christy get up and walk, declaring that it was good for the bairn. So Christy walked while cloths, hot water, herbal preparations, and other paraphernalia were gathered. Then Agnes, the midwife, arrived. She examined Christy and announced that everything was progressing normally.

  Christy had no idea what that meant, except that the pain was unrelenting and at times more than she could bear. Hours passed, the pain continued, and Christy wondered if the child would ever be born. Night came. The moon rose high in the sky. Christy walked until a building pressure demanded that she push.

  “‘Tis time for my daughter to be born,” Christy gasped when the pressure became unbearable.

  Agnes nodded agreement, and she and Mary helped Christy into bed. Margot held her hand while Agnes spread her legs and murmured instructions. Through a fog of pain, Christy heard and obeyed. An hour later, just as dawn was breaking, the babe came into the world, loudly protesting its difficult journey.

  Utterly drained but jubilant, Christy held out her arms for her child. “Give my daughter to me,” she whispered.

  Mary gave her a strange look. “Christy. Yer bairn is…”

  Immediately Christy thought the worst. “Noooo! What’s wrong with her? Oh, God, please don’t take my bairn.”

  “Dinna fret, lass,” Mary crooned. “Yer babe is as hale and hearty as his lusty sire. I ken ye were expecting a daughter, but God has given ye a fine, braw laddie.”

  Christy went limp with relief. As long as her bairn was healthy, its sex, though potentially cause for worry should Sinjun take him away, didn’t matter. She had hoped for a lassie, but a laddie was just as welcome. Perhaps the next child … No, she shoved that thought aside. There might never be another child if Sinjun decided the life he led as Lord Sin held more appeal than a wife and son.

  Chapter 10

  Christy cuddled her precious son against her breast as he nursed. Gazing down at his dark head, his rosebud mouth sucking vigorously on her nipple, she thought fiercely of how much she loved this child. He was a month old now, and Christy still hadn’t sent word of his birth to Sinjun. The first months of a child’s life were so precarious that she had wanted to make sure her bairn remained healthy before notifying Sinjun. Babies were known to die for no apparent reason the first weeks after birth.

  The tiny scrap of humanity in her arms reminded her strongly of his father. She wondered if Sinjun was enjoying London and if he had resumed his old way of fife. Did he ever think of her? Though Sinjun had seemed reluctant to leave, she’d be a fool to believe he preferred simple living to London’s pleasures.

  The baby’s lips fell away from her nipple; he was sated and sleeping soundly. She wished Sinjun had been here to name his son. Strange, they had never spoken of names, and Christy had only names for a lass picked out. For want of direction from Sinjun, Christy had named the boy Niall, after her father.

  Chris
ty placed her sleeping son in his cradle in the adjoining nursery and left the chamber to compose the letter to Sinjun she’d put off writing. A month after his birth, Niall was the picture of health, a sturdy replica of his father. She tiptoed from the chamber and ran into Margot, who had come to summon Christy.

  “Calum Cameron is here to see ye,” she said sourly.

  Christy’s hand went to her throat. “Now? ‘Tis late. What could he want at this time of night? Dear Lord, what kind of trouble has he stirred up now?”

  “Perhaps he just wants to offer congratulations on the birth of yer bairn,” Margot offered.

  Christy knew Calum better than that. He had come to make trouble.

  “Yer looking fine, lass,” Calum said, his gaze roaming over Christy’s newly slim figure with unconcealed admiration. “I hear ye had a fine braw laddie.”

  A shiver of apprehension slid down Christy’s spine. Calum’s hulking form seemed to fill the hall with unspoken menace. “You heard right, Calum. Niall is a fine, healthy lad.”

  “What do ye hear from his sire?”

  “Nothing yet. He’s only been gone a month.”

  “I dinna think he will return.”

  Christy bristled. “You don’t know that.”

  A persistent banging on the door drew Christy’s attention from Calum to the front hallway. Two unexpected visitors in one night was rare. Margot opened the door, admitting John Coachman into the hall. He was reeling from exhaustion and nearly asleep on his feet.

  “A message from yer husband,” Margot said, ushering John into the hall.

  “Sinjun,” Christy said, eyes glowing. She hadn’t expected to hear from him yet.

  A travel-weary John Coachman doffed his hat and placed Sinjun’s letter into Christy’s hand. “His lordship said I should wait for an answer.”

  “Thank you, John. Margot will take you to the kitchen and see that you’re given something to eat and a place to sleep.”

  Margot led John toward the back of the fortress. Christy wished Calum would leave so she could read her letter in private. But Calum seemed disinclined to leave. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he stared at the letter she held in her hand. Before she knew what he intended, he ripped the letter from her hand and tore it open. She knew he could read, for he’d learned from the same tutor who had taught her to read and cipher.

  “You have no right!” Christy raged as she tried to snatch the letter from his hand.

  “Dinna fret, lass, I want to see what yer fancy English husband has to say. I’ll read it to ye, if ye’d like.”

  “I can read it myself,” Christy snapped, wishing Calum to hell.

  “His lordship writes ye on the day after his arrival in London,” Calum read aloud. “He says Sir Oswald’s trial has been postponed a fortnight.” He looked up and gave her a disgruntled scowl. “He says he will return to Glenmoor after the trial.” His gaze left the pages and returned to Christy. “Have ye told him about his bairn?”

  Furious, Christy snatched the letter from his hand. “Not yet, but I intend to remedy mat.”

  The smile that Calum gave Christy was anything but reassuring. “Tell his lordship ye dinna want him to return.”

  “What? You’re mad. You know Sinjun will want to see his bairn.”

  “The moment Lord Derby sets foot in the Highlands he’s a dead man,” Calum promised. “He’ll never reach Glenmoor alive. I’m a man of my word, Christy Macdonald. I tried once to kill the bastard and failed, but I won’t fail again.”

  “You wouldn’t dare kill Sinjun!” Christy gasped, aware that he would dare anything if it served his purpose. “What would his death gain you?”

  “Ye, Christy Macdonald. Through ye I will have the power that should have been mine all along. A woman shouldna be laird.”

  “I had the blessing of the entire clan,” Christy exclaimed.

  “Not the Camerons,” Calum retorted. “We were outnumbered by the Macdonalds, Ranalds, and Mackenzies. Being chieftain of the Camerons isna enough power for what I have in mind. If it takes Lord Derby’s death to have ye and the power I crave, then so be it.”

  Christy knew with cold certainty that she had to keep Sinjun away from the Highlands. Once Calum’s clansmen rallied behind him, Sinjun was in danger of losing his life.

  Christy’s expression must have given away her thoughts. “I see that we understand one another, lass,” Calum said, folding his arms over his massive chest.

  “I won’t let you kill Sinjun,” Christy declared hotly.

  “Ye canna stop me. He’ll never reach Glenmoor alive. As for his bairn, once we wed, he’ll be fostered with a Cameron. ‘Tis my bairns ye’ll be birthing. One every year.” Lust-glazed eyes raked over her body. “Ye can depend on it.” He turned to leave.

  “Calum, wait!”

  He halted and glanced over his shoulder at her. “What is it now? Ye canna change my mind, ye know. Derby must die.”

  “What if Sinjun doesn’t return to the Highlands?”

  “He’ll come. Like ye said, he’ll want to see his bairn.”

  “What if I can convince Sinjun to have our marriage annulled?”

  He frowned. “’Tis too late. Ye have a bairn.”

  “No, listen to me. When Sinjun first arrived at Glenmoor he had every intention of having our marriage annulled. It could have happened. Sinjun’s brother, the earl of Mansfield, is an influential man and would have handled the legalities. The writ of annulment is still here, in Sinjun’s trunk. I’m certain I can convince him to proceed with the annulment. I know he’ll act upon it when I return the document with my signature in place.”

  Calum shook his shaggy head. “It willna work. He’ll come for his bairn. He can take him away from ye, ye know.”

  Christy was desperate. Sinjun couldn’t return to Glenmoor. He had to live. She racked her brain for a solution that would convince Sinjun to remain in London. The idea that popped into her head was so outrageous she thought it just might work.

  “If ye’ve nothing more to say, lass, I’ll be leaving,” Calum said.

  Christy couldn’t allow Calum to leave before she’d laid her plan before him. “Sinjun won’t come to the Highlands if I sign the annulment and send it to him with John Coachman,” Christy began.

  “He’ll come anyway,” Calum insisted.

  Christy took a deep breath, but it did little to calm her jagged nerves. What she was about to suggest was sinfully wrong, but saving Sinjun’s life more than made up for it. “Not if I tell him our child died at birth, and that I want to end our marriage and wed you.”

  Calum’s attention sharpened. “Yer smart, lass, I’ll give ye that.” He stroked his chin. “How will I know ye’ll do as ye say?”

  “I’ll sign the annulment in your presence. And you can read the letter I write to Sinjun.”

  “How do I know ye willna compose another letter and destroy the first after I’ve left?”

  Calum’s suspicious nature was backing Christy into a wall. “I’ll send John Coachman off tonight, though the poor man deserves a good night’s sleep.”

  “Sign the document and compose yer letter,” Calum commanded as he sat down at the table to await Christy’s return. “Ale wouldna be remiss, lass.”

  Christy grabbed a cup from the sideboard, drew a pitcher of ale from the barrel, and slammed them down before Calum. Then she hurried upstairs, pausing a moment to look in on her sleeping son. Margot was sitting with him, and Christy asked her to stay until she got rid of Calum. Then she entered her own chamber and went to the corner where Sinjun’s trunk rested. She raised the lid and sorted through his belongings until she found the annulment document he’d left behind. After collecting her writing materials, she returned to the hall and sat down beside Calum.

  “Let me see,” Calum said, reaching for the annulment paper. He scanned it quickly and handed it back.

  Before she had time to think about what she was doing, she dipped the quill into the ink jar and sign
ed her name. “There, ‘tis done,” she said with bone-deep sadness.

  “Now the letter,” Calum directed.

  Retrieving a sheet of paper, Christy began to write. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she told Sinjun that his child had died at birth. She prayed God would forgive her for such a reprehensible lie, but Calum had given her no other option. She could barely see through the tears when she wrote that she never wanted to see Sinjun again, that she was signing the annulment document and returning it with John Coachman, that she expected him to file it with the courts. She tried to make her letter sound believable. Sinjun was no fool. If she didn’t keep the message concise and impersonal, he’d know immediately that something was amiss. When she finished, she handed the letter to Calum.

  “If Derby comes to the Highlands after this letter he’s more a fool than I gave him credit for,” Calum said, nodding his approval. “Summon the messenger. I’ll hasten him on his way myself.”

  Before she could do Calum’s bidding, Rory entered the hall through the front door. He saw Calum sitting with Christy and stiffened.

  “What brings ye out this time of night, Calum Cameron?”

  “I had business with the laird,” Calum said, rising until he stood nose to nose with Rory.

  “Rory, John Coachman arrived with a message from Sinjun. He’s resting in the kitchen. Would you summon him?” Christy asked before the two came to fisticuffs.

  “Will ye be all right?” Rory asked, sending Calum a fierce scowl.

  “I’ll be fine. Hurry. ‘Tis imperative that John leave tonight with my reply. And Rory,” Christy called after him, “don’t mention the bairn.”

  Rory looked as if he wanted to demand an explanation but Christy’s stoic expression must have changed his mind. He strode from the hall with undue haste.

  “Yer a smart lass,” Calum said. “I want no trouble with the Macdonalds. Dinna tell anyone about our pact. Feuding among ourselves isna a good thing right now.”