But he never spoke to him.
As the Hound finished trouncing yet another opponent—it was hard to tell who it was—he straightened…and looked up the hill toward their little cluster. The man rarely presumed to address the laird’s jewels, but Pearl knew he was always aware of them. Whatever strange devotion he owed to Da, he seemed to extend to the man’s daughters as well.
From this height, it was impossible to see the coldness in his dark eyes, but easy to imagine. Pearl shivered again.
“Are ye cold, wee sister?”
“Nay,” Pearl answered Agata without considering her words. “Just thinking about men.”
“Aye, I’ve shivered once or twice thinking on the same topic,” Saffy confessed with a smirk. “But ye’re staring at our father’s Hound.” She jabbed Pearl with her bony elbow. “Could it be ye’ve found a man who affects you as well?”
“Nay!” Pearl’s attention whipped toward her smiling sister. “I—what? Nay!”
“’Twill be fine,” Citrine quipped from her other side. “Ye just need to admit the truth to yerself. We’ll guide you through these strange feelings. The heat in yer belly…”
Saffy grinned. “The shortness of breath…”
“The warmth ye feel whenever ye’re around him…” her twin continued.
Even Agata joined the teasing, dragging out her words. “The way his voice saying yer name causes vibrations deep between yer—Oh dear.”
Pearl, who was embarrassed to realize she’d been leaning toward her sister to hear the end of that description, snapped upright. “What?” she asked, a little too frantically.
“Naught.” Agata’s attention was still on her stitching. “I pricked myself.”
“Better that than a man pricking ye,” Saffy burst out, dissolving into giggles once more.
But Citrine just rolled her eyes. “She was teasing ye, Pearl, because the Hound doesn’t speak. His voice cannae cause that delicious sensation.”
It was true. Pearl had never heard the man say a single word. Gossip in the kitchens was that he could speak, but didn’t often. Was it a choice, or due to the faint white scar around his throat?
But Pearl didn’t want to show she was thinking of her father’s Hound. Instead, she frowned at Citrine. “What delicious sensation?”
“Why, the pressure between ye thighs, wee sister. Surely ye ken what I mean. When a man causes ye to desire—”
Irritated once more at being relegated to the youngest sister, Pearl snapped, “Nay!” Then in a calmer voice, she lied, “I’ve never felt that.”
When her sister snorted in disbelief, Pearl continued her campaign to convince them and herself. “My interest in men is naught, nor am I hungry for marriage. I am happy here among my clan, and have nae interest in trading this existence for one which may include pressure or heat or vibrations.”
“Or sensations,” Saffy added helpfully.
“Or sensations!” Pearl agreed, slamming her sewing down into her lap once more.
She flexed her toes in the grass, digging into the soil, feeling the life-force of the Highlands flow up through her limbs to lend strength to her convictions. “I am happy here. I donnae want to be married, to leave all of this, to leave Da, to go away just because some man might touch me in the right way.”
Where she expected her sisters to comment on the touching, she was surprised at their silence. Glancing to her right, Pearl saw both Citrine and Agata staring at her. Their elder sister’s expression was a bit…pitying.
“What will you do, then?” Agata asked in that low voice of hers.
The frustration at her father climbed up Pearl’s chest and into her throat. “I—I donnae ken! I donnae want to be married off. I donnae want to leave Sinclair land!”
“You must, dear one,” Agata prompted gently. “’Tis our duty to the clan.”
“Then…then fie on duty!” Pearl jumped to her feet and began to pace, although it was difficult on the hill. All she knew was that she couldn’t sit still longer. “Fie, I say! Father has his three alliances, with yer marriage contracts!”
She threw up her hands, knowing she wasn’t explaining herself well to her sisters, who sat stone-still, their stitching forgotten on their laps as they watched her agitated pacing. Pearl tried to ignore their incredulity at her words, and did her best to explain her feelings.
“I like being here. I like being with my clan. I donnae want things to change, not for some man I donnae ken!”
“Things always change, Pearl,” Agata gently reminded her. “’Tis the nature of life.”
Citrine, curse her, asked slyly, “Would you prefer a change, if ’twere with a man you did ken?”
Without meaning to, Pearl’s gaze crept back down the hill. There were so many braw men there, so many handsome ones. But none made her feel sensations or vibrations the way her sisters described.
And even as she told herself that, Pearl knew she was lying.
She cleared her throat, forcing down the traitorous admission. “Nay! I want…I want…”
From behind her came Agata’s gentle prompting. “What do you want, dear one?”
Pearl whirled around, putting her back to the warriors below. “I want things to remain the same! I want to share a chamber with my sisters, to ken I can spend my days supporting my family and my clan! I want…” She took a deep breath and forced her hands to un-clench. “I want tomorrow to be just like yesterday.”
Agata smiled softly, but before she could spout whatever wisdom she was thinking, Citrine snorted and turned back to her embroidery.
“And what if yer sisters have no interest in remaining in our shared chamber? What if we want to leave this quiet corner of boredom and experience some real adventure for a change?”
Saffy nodded. “Things have to change, Pearl. I am sorry.”
“Then I’ll—I’ll…” Pearl frowned down at her sisters, knowing they were right, but not wanting to admit it. “I’ll find some way to live here without ye. Perhaps once Agata re-marries, she would welcome a visit from her favorite wee sister.”
Citrine rolled her eyes. “We’re all her younger sisters, and Agata is her favorite. Ye were barely a woman when she left to be married.”
“Ye’re barely a woman now,” Saffy teased.
Pearl resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “The two years ye have above me hardly make me a child!”
“Nay,” Agata agreed gently. “Ye are a woman, full grown, and ready for marriage. We have all done our duties and agreed to marriage contracts to strengthen the Sinclair name and safety.” Her smile was a little sad. “When it’s yer turn, you must do the same.”
“I willnae! I would stay here.”
“’Tis impossible. Yer fate, as a daughter of a laird is either marriage or—”
When Agata bit off the alternative, Pearl found herself leaning forward once more, desperate for any suggestion. “Or what?”
But Citrine scoffed, her attention on her stitching. “You think Da would consider a nunnery? For one of his jewels?”
The nickname was a silly one, as silly as the Hound’s, but that didn’t stop everyone from using it. Mama had named her daughters after the stones in the long-missing Sinclair brooch, and it was easy to lump them all together thusly.
But Pearl didn’t want to be lumped together with the stones which would make their father’s alliances strong. She wanted to be allowed to choose her own fate.
One which didn’t include a marriage contract.
And Agata’s suggestion had merit.
“A nunnery,” she said aloud, while inside, her mind raced. A nunnery. “A marriage contract with Christ himself. A sisterhood, since my sisters are leaving me.”
Citrine scoffed. “You cannae be serious. You? A nun?”
Saffy nodded. “Nuns’ daily mission is prayer and introspection, Pearl. Ye can barely sit through church wi’out fidgeting. And I doubt the abbess would allow ye to spend yer days running barefoot over the hills.”
&n
bsp; “Collecting flowers,” Citirine said, “or chasing butterflies.”
“I’m no’ that shiftless,” Pearl objected. “Ye said yerselves, I am grown.”
“Indeed,” Agata interjected, her support coming from an unexpected direction. “Ye now prefer to spend yer days in service to yer clan, which is admirable.”
Pearl met her sister’s eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply. Agata was correct; Pearl’s mission in life was to make sure her family and clan were well-cared for, from the highest to the lowest. Da called her his “needful messenger”, because she was always bringing tidings of a shepherd who needed help or a hunter with a kill large enough to share. In fact, later this afternoon, her plans included a visit to a famer’s wife with a new baby, bringing with her a basket of jam from the keep’s kitchens, cheese from the village, and old linens from the laundry. She also needed to check in on Elspeth, their old nurse, who mentioned during last week’s visit that she had something to give Pearl. The old woman tended to be a bit dotty, but checking up on her was the least Pearl could do after her years of service.
Agata continued, her head cocked to one side thoughtfully. “And I suppose a nun’s mission in life, besides prayer and introspection, is to spend her life in service to others.”
“The nearest nunnery is days from here! Ye might have to go to the Lowlands!” Saffy exploded. “I cannae believe ye would consider it. Ye could spend yer days in service to others, aye, but no’ yer clan. If ye marry, yer husband’s clan would become yer own!”
“I donnae want to take care of another clan,” Pearl almost shouted.
Agata sighed and placed her sewing off to one side before she stood, brushing off her skirts. “Wee sister,” she began gently, crossing to stand in front of Pearl. “I donnae see a way for ye to remain here. Yer choice is to follow the path Da has chosen for ye, or to enter a life of sisterhood far from here.”
Her smile was sad as she placed her hands on Pearl’s shoulders. “Either way, ye will be giving up this.”
Gently, she turned Pearl around, until they were both looking out over the Sinclair holdings. In the distance, the same eagle swooped and soared over the hills, looking for prey, their freedom a sight to behold. Sheep dotted the hills, and down in the valleys, farmers worked in their fields. The mountains loomed over the village to their left, and below them…
Below them, one warrior still watched.
Pearl took a deep breath. “I would rather a life of service than one of servitude. Perhaps the abbess will allow me to continue my work with the village near the nunnery.”
Behind them, Citrine laughed. “Da will never allow you to take vows.”
But Agata squeezed Pearl’s shoulders and leaned toward her ear. “Be sure ye ken yer own heart, dear one. But go. Be brave.”
Her gaze still on the lone man who stood, legs braced and shoulders strong, his head tilted up to watch her, Pearl nodded slowly.
Be brave.
“I’ll speak with Da after the evening meal.”
Chapter Two
It was impossible not to be bored while standing guard outside his laird’s solar. But Gregor was used to it, and had developed ways to keep his mind busy in the long hours…or to allow his mind to rest. Ofttimes, Duncan Sinclair allowed him to remain in the chambers as he worked, although it probably wasn’t on purpose. As silent as he was, Gregor was easy to overlook.
It was what made him the best guard.
What made him the laird’s Hound.
This evening, his eyes rested on the grey stone of the corridor wall as he followed the murmurings from inside the solar. The Sinclair spoke with Dougal, his commander, a good and able warrior. He’d taught Gregor everything he knew about blades, although Gregor still preferred to use his brawn to fight. This afternoon’s lesson had been an example of such. Dougal had instructed the younger men in special techniques while Gregor had demonstrated for them.
If he had to be away from his laird’s side, he was pleased it was for a good reason. By helping Dougal, he was helping to ensure future Sinclair warriors would be capable and strong. Strong enough to stand by the Sinclair when Gregor’s sins finally caught up with him.
In the meantime, he’d continue to devote his time to the man who had shown so much faith in him when it wasn’t necessary. He’d stand by Duncan Sinclair through anything, and make sure no harm came to his family.
Speaking of family…Gregor’s thoughts drifted to the quartet of women on the hillside. Thinking about the Sinclair Jewels was a popular way to occupy a guard’s mind, but Gregor was particular. All four of them were beautiful, with their mother’s honey-yellow hair. And all had eyes the color of the stones for which they were named.
But there was one, the youngest, who always held Gregor’s attention.
She’d been so young when he’d devoted his life to Duncan Sinclair, but even then, Gregor had known she was special. Pearl Sinclair carried so much joy and gentility inside her. It was no wonder someone as dirty and broken as he’d been had taken one look and fallen under an enchantment he hadn’t escaped. In the years since then, she’d grown to a beautiful and caring woman, worthier than all people on the Sinclair land.
And although she didn’t know it, she had a protector. Gregor would always put her father first in his loyalty, but Duncan Sinclair’s youngest daughter was next in his heart.
Footsteps on the stairs pulled Gregor’s attention from his silent musings. There’d been a steady flow of noise up the tower stairs as the servants set the great hall to rights after the meal. Any noise which indicated possible danger for his laird sent Gregor into high alert.
He relaxed, however, almost immediately, as the second and third and fourth step indicated it was a woman. And not just any woman, but one wearing the light-weight slippers the Sinclair Jewels preferred. A lady.
His hand loosened its grip from the blade by his side, and he was just exhaling softly when she stepped onto the landing.
Luckily, he managed not to choke when he caught his breath.
Pearl glanced behind her, then met his eyes. Was it his imagination, or did she hesitate, as if unsure to continue to her father’s solar or return to her chambers one story below?
When she straightened her shoulders and took a breath, Gregor almost nodded in approval. This was one jewel who didn’t shirk her intentions.
Still, her gaze turned wary as she drew closer to him. After all these years, was she still afraid of him? As well she should be. He was lower than the dirt beneath her slippers, and nowhere near as clean.
“My father. Is he in?”
Her voice was soft, but he never tired of listening to it. Her good intentions were well-known, and he was glad to be able to help her.
He inclined his head just slightly, not dropping her gaze.
The tip of her pink tongue darted out from between her lips, and Gregor’s gaze dropped to it. Were her lips as soft as they appeared? When she drew the lower one in between her teeth, his nostrils flared. Another man might’ve groaned in pleasure, to see something so innocently seductive, but Gregor had long ago learned the value of silence.
When she swallowed, he lifted his gaze to her face once more. Her eyes were the palest gray, almost silver. It was stupid to call them gray when they were really the color of a freshly polished dagger, or a misty Highland morning, and Gregor knew why her mother had named her Pearl.
“May I please see my father?” she asked quietly.
As if he would stand in her way of anything. He dropped his chin once more, gave the briefest of nods, then moved from his place in front of the door. As she stepped closer, he lifted one hand and opened the heavy wooden door, knowing she would struggle with the weight.
His gesture caused her to hesitate. She glanced at him briefly, her scent teasing his nostrils. “Thank you, sir…Hound.”
Hound. Sinclair’s Hound. That’s who he was. And as the door closed behind Pearl, he reminded himself he was proud of his position. He was loyal and
strong, and would serve his master until his death.
As a good dog did.
The murmuring from the other side of the door quieted upon her entry, but not for long. The Sinclair’s bellowed “What?” had Gregor instinctually reacting to his master’s outrage. But Pearl’s quiet voice stopped him, reminding him this was a family matter.
Whatever it was, the conversation went on for some time. Duncan occasionally yelled, and sometimes his voice turned cajoling, but Gregor couldn’t make out the words. Interspersed with the laird’s anger was Pearl’s soft voice, and sometimes even Dougal would interject, although it was impossible to hear what was being said. Gregor reminded himself this wasn’t his business, and went back to contemplating possible routes for bandits and how he would counter their attacks.
Finally, the discussion—argument?—grew quiet, and over his right shoulder, through the narrow window, he could see the sun sink below the horizon. It would soon be time for Duncan to retire, and Gregor to find his place in the great hall. Dougal had made it known there was a place for him in the barracks with the rest of the Sinclair men, and the laird had offered him one of the empty cottages in the village reserved for warriors of rank. But Gregor had declined, because he knew where he belonged, wrapped in his plaid at the base of the stairs. If anyone tried to get to Duncan or his family during the night, they’d have to go through him first.
Gregor shifted his weight as a creak on the floorboards behind him alerted him to a change. When Dougal pulled the door open, Gregor was already turning.
The commander was frowning. “The Sinclair wants ye.”
Dougal didn’t wait for an acknowledgement, but turned to stalk back across the room to stand beside his laird’s desk. Behind it, Duncan slouched in a chair, his head propped in his hand, looking defeated.
And in front of him, Pearl stood, small hands fisted at her sides, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
Ignoring the tug in his gut which told him to protect her from harm, Gregor crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for his laird to tell him what he needed to know.
The Sinclair Hound Page 2
