by Caroline Lee
Still, that didn’t stop him from releasing her hand and placing his on the curve of her hip. She wondered if he’d realized he’d done it. It was a small act, but one which managed to make her heart happy and sad at once.
So, she made sure to make her feelings clear. “Ye are, Gregor. Ye are worthy. Kind, loyal, and brave. My father values ye…and I value ye, more than I can express.”
He closed his eyes on her words, but turned his head just slightly so he pressed his jaw into her palm.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered.
Aye, tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d return to the keep. Tomorrow she’d have to stand in front of her father and explain what had happened, and how she was at fault. Tomorrow she’d have to find words to explain she would not enter a nunnery and would not leave her home to marry Laird Sutherland, especially now that she knew what he’d done to Gregor.
But she wouldn’t be able to tell her father what she actually wanted for her life. She wanted a small cottage among her people and the chance to help them. She wanted a good man to share her life with, to make her feel special, to love her.
She wanted Gregor, and she couldn’t have him. Because she would not be the one to cause him to lose even further regard for himself. He already didn’t see his own goodness. He’d never shaken the idea that he was a villain, and ignored everything he’d accomplished in the last ten years. By asking him to kiss her, to touch her, she’d forced him to choose between her and his loyalty to her father, and it was tearing him up inside.
She wanted him, aye, but she didn’t deserve someone as selfless as him. Someone who’d chosen to satisfy her over his own honor.
Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “So sorry.”
He hissed something which might’ve been a curse, but then pulled her into his arms again. Knowing she was torturing herself with what she couldn’t have, she pressed her face into the bend of his neck and breathed in his scent. He shifted so he was lying completely on his side, both arms around her, one hand rubbing small circles on her back.
She cried for him and what he’d been through. She cried for herself and what she’d never have. And when he dropped a small kiss to her shoulder, she cried for the pleasure and joy he’d brought her, which she’d never experience again.
And when exhaustion finally overtook her and she fell into a deep sleep, she dreamed of being held by him forever.
Waking stretched out beside him, his arm cradling her and the bulge of his manhood pressed against her bottom, was even better. She knew if she had her way, she’d wake thusly for the rest of her life.
But it wasn’t to be. He had his honor, and she had her memories, and that would have to be enough.
The journey home was made mostly in silence.
As they passed through the village and approached the Sinclair keep, a high-pitched whistle cut through the nervous pulse pounding in Pearl’s ears. She tightened her hold on Gregor as he lifted his fist in the traditional greeting, and she heard distant bellows of “The Hound has returned! Fetch the laird!”
Under her hands, Gregor tensed, and she knew he was thinking the same as she. The stares and calls they’d experienced as they’d trotted through the village were nothing compared to what was about to come. Her time of reckoning was here, and she couldn’t afford to waver.
The bailey was bustling with people, running to check on the commotion. As they recognized her skirts behind the mass of Sinclair plaid before her, many broke into cheers or prayer.
“Lady Pearl is safe!”
“Thank the Lord!”
“The Hound has brought her back to us!”
“Bless ye, sir!”
Pearl felt tears stinging her eyes as she reached out to touch the hands which stretched for her. It was more of the same from the village. These were people who loved her for who she was, not who her father was. Seeing them surrounding the horse, feeling their outpouring of love, Pearl knew she couldn’t leave them again.
When they reached the steps, where she’d said goodbye to her sisters only a fortnight ago—how much had changed since then! Gregor swung down off the horse, then reached up to lift her. His hands didn’t linger, but that same heat she’d felt earlier, crept up her body from his touch.
Together, they turned to face the stairs, just as Saffy barreled into her. Pearl instinctively wrapped her arms around her sister and squeezed, even though they both stumbled back toward Gregor, who put his hands on her shoulders to steady them.
“Thank the Lord ye’re safe, Pearl! Last night, when the messenger came…” Saffy buried her head in Pearl’s shoulder. “We’ve been so worried!”
It seemed as if everyone was talking—or shouting at once—but Pearl focused on her sister. “What message? Where’s Da and our sisters?”
Sniffling, Saffy lifted her face, her bright blue eyes swimming with tears even as her smile grew. “Citrine is training, and Agata was called back to the Mackenzies. But we’ll send a messenger to them to let her ken ye’re safe. And home! Are ye staying this time?”
“The Mackenzies? What…?” Pearl twisted to look at Gregor, who seemed to remember himself and dropped his hands. “Do ye ken what she means?”
He shook his head, as if being home had caused him to revert back to his old self.
“Pearl!”
At her father’s bellow, she squirmed out of her sister’s arms to move to her father. His hug was as strong as a bear, and in the moment his arms wrapped around her, Pearl felt her knees go weak with relief. She inhaled deeply, her father’s smell of wool and leather bringing her the comfort she’d always felt in his arms.
She was home.
“Pearl, wee jewel, I’ve been so afraid for ye,” he muttered against her hair.
She pulled back slightly. “What is it, Da? I thought ye didnae expect—”
He tutted before she could mention the nunnery again, and held her by her shoulders at arms’ length.
“Last eve a messenger came from William an’ the Campbells. He told us about the attack on ye, an’ yer escape, although he didnae ken if ye’d made it.”
The sense of liberation which slammed into her had her twisting in her father’s arms to meet Gregor’s eyes. “Did ye hear? William is alive!” she called with a big smile. “An’ Fergus?” she asked while turning back to her father. “Is he alive?”
Her father’s face was grim when he shook his head. “The messenger told us both Fergus and Mungo were buried in their churchyard, an’ William is recuperating from a wound.”
Instinctively, Pearl bowed her head to say a prayer for the souls of both men. She’d known they were gone, she’d known it, but hearing of William’s survival had given her hope.
Dear Lord, bring them eternal peace an’ the honor they deserve.
“They were heroes,” she said in a choked voice.
“Aye,” Da said in that booming voice of his. “An’ they’ll be remembered as such. But the messenger arrived yesterday. Did ye linger?”
She glanced up to see him glaring at Gregor, and when she turned, she saw the younger man’s silent nod.
Her father growled. “Even though ye kenned I’d be desperate to ken my daughter was safe?”
Gregor nodded again, and Da’s eyes darted between him and Pearl, the irritation turning to suspicion.
Pearl slipped from under his grip and moved to stand between the two men. Part of her knew she couldn’t protect Gregor—and didn’t need to—but she also wanted her father to know why they hadn’t arrived yesterday.
“’Twas my fault,” she blurted. “With only the one horse, we didn’t want to push. An’ he—the Hound—has been verra caring. I mean, kind. He cared for—he took care of me.” She managed not to wince at the mess she’d made of that explanation, even while congratulating herself on remembering to call him by the name her father called him.
Unfortunately, her father’s eyes narrowed. “What happened? Report.”
She opened her mouth to res
pond, but realized he was glaring over her shoulder at Gregor, who stepped up beside her and tapped his fist to his chest as he inclined his head slightly.
“After we entered Campbell land, we were followed. On alert, but bandits overwhelmed us.”
As he spoke, whispers spread through the bailey, and Pearl heard her sister gasp in surprise. She remembered how she had never heard Gregor speak prior to their journey, and here it was, reporting to Da, who didn’t seem surprised.
He continued in his raspy voice. “On foot, mounted, an’ archers. Mungo took an arrow to the throat, William was firing.” His expression was stoic, as if relating the terrifying battle was naught more than his daily routine. “I was closest to the lady. Fergus was unmounted an’ swinging, when she…”
For the first time, he hesitated, glancing at Pearl. Was he not sure what she wanted her father to know? She straightened her shoulders. He needed to know everything.
“I was terrified, Da,” she took up the story in a low voice. “I ran, but my horse floundered. I heard Fergus tell the Hound to go after me, and he did. We rode west as far as we could, until he was sure they wouldn’t be able to catch us, then we turned north again.”
Her father’s nod told her he wasn’t surprised that the horror of the attack had caused her to give up on her plan and return home. There was so much more she needed to explain, but for now, she raised her voice to make sure her clan could hear her sorrow.
“Mungo and Fergus died heroes. Mungo’s horse was beside my own when he went down, and Fergus’s last act was to ensure I—we had the time to escape.” She felt her throat closing up at the thought of that brave man. “He kenned Gregor could save me, an’ he was right. I would’ve died—or worse—had it not been for his quick wits and bravery.” She was quick to point to Gregor’s shoulder. “He was wounded, shot while shielding me from the bandits’ arrows. ’Tis thanks to him—to all of them—that I am alive.”
There. She’d stood in front of her clan and praised her guards, Gregor in particular, for their actions. It was as it should be. She hadn’t singled him out for special treatment, hadn’t praised him overmuch. No one would suspect how deeply she’d come to care for him.
Except her father.
The older man’s eyes narrowed again. “‘Gregor’, eh?”
Drat.
His suspicious gaze flashed between them. “Do ye have something more to tell me?”
Pearl glanced at Gregor, but he was staring straight ahead, wearing that mask he’d always worn when he was being a guard rather than a man.
She could deny it. She could claim she was exhausted and overwrought and retire to her room with Saffy, where she could demand absolutely every detail of what had happened with the Mackenzies. But in return, Pearl would probably have to tell her older sisters about what had transpired on her journey, and the way Gregor had made her feel.
Aye, she could do that, and no one would think aught of it.
But eventually, she’d have to tell her father of her resolve to stay home, and try to come to an agreement.
With her attention on Gregor, handsome even without his expressive eyes on her, Pearl took a deep breath.
Better to get it over with.
She straightened her shoulders and met her father’s eyes. “Aye, Da. I have plenty more to tell ye.”
Chapter Eleven
When the Sinclair frowned and demanded they follow him to his solar, Gregor handed his horse off to a lad, then followed them inside. Around him, the clan whispered and muttered, trying to guess at what had transpired on their journey. Pearl’s words, her version of the story, had painted the men as heroic, but her father wasn’t the only one who’d noticed she’d used Gregor’s name.
Hell, most of the people probably didn’t even know he had a name, besides “Hound.”
Before he stepped into the keep, he turned to sweep his gaze over the gathered crowd. To his surprise, more than a few people erupted into cheers and clapping. Gregor blinked, realizing they were still thankful for him bringing Pearl back home. They’d heard her words and…what? And thought him a hero?
He lifted one hand hesitantly in acknowledgement, and the cheering grew.
They thought he was a hero. Him.
For ten years, he’d been the Sinclair Hound, silent and intimidating, guarding their laird. Gregor knew some of the men down there, men he’d trained or trained with, but none had ever asked his name or called him friend. But now…now they were cheering him, as if he was one of them, and they were proud of that fact. They were acting as if he belonged.
So, he was in a more thoughtful frame of mind as he crossed the great hall, nodding once to Dougal, before following Pearl up the stone steps.
Seeing his commander reminded Gregor of his relief at knowing young William was still alive. Fergus and Mungo’s deaths were to be mourned, but it was a miracle that the archer was still breathing. Gregor assumed he’d be transferred north to Sinclair lands once the Campbell healer deemed him safe to travel.
For now, Gregor needed to focus on what lay ahead. Despite the clan’s cheering for him, and that unexpected feeling of camaraderie, there was a very real chance Gregor would be banished from Sinclair lands once the laird discovered what had passed between his Hound and his daughter. That is, if the Sinclair didn’t finish what Sutherland had started all those years ago, and kill him outright.
Gregor swallowed, knowing he deserved whatever punishment the laird saw fit to mete out. Still, he would never regret the time he’d spent with Pearl. Being with her…had been worth losing his honor. He’d made the choice to betray his laird, and that glimpse at perfection would stay with him for the remainder of his days, no matter what was coming.
In fact, following behind Pearl as she ascended the stairs only reminded Gregor of what they’d shared. The hips which swayed so gently under her long skirts were just this morning pressed against him, and last night had bucked under his fingers.
The memory would be enough. Thank God he’d been able to control himself and go no further, no matter how much he’d ached.
At the landing, she stepped toward her father’s solar, but turned briefly to glance over her shoulder at Gregor. In those pearl-grey eyes, he saw sorrow, but also determination. He wanted to reach for her, to tell her everything would be fine and she’d be able to stay on Sinclair lands as she longed to do…but he knew he couldn’t make that promise.
When he stepped into the solar, Gregor closed the heavy oak door and stood in front of it, his arms crossed, waiting his laird’s words. This was his place. He was the Sinclair’s Hound.
Duncan Sinclair moved behind his desk, but didn’t sit in his large chair. Instead, he stared down at the fire in the hearth, his hands behind his back, as if considering something important. Pearl stopped before his desk, her head held high.
She looked ready to face her fate, and despite knowing he had no claim on her, no reason to feel that way, Gregor was proud of her.
When the laird turned, his eyes lingered on his daughter, then rested on Gregor. “How fares yer injury? Yer shoulder, was it?”
Surprised at the man’s concern, Gregor nodded. “’Tis healing.”
Sinclair grunted. “Thanks to Pearl, I’m guessing? She’s kens her way around a wound—has spent long enough caring for injuries in the village and farms.”
Unsure now what the man was thinking, Gregor’s “Aye” was hesitant.
The laird might’ve said more, but Pearl, obviously unwilling to be ignored, spoke up. “I do care for the people of the village and the farms, Da. I care for this clan.” She took a deep breath. “I will not marry Sutherland.”
“Aye, ye said that afore,” her father answered neutrally. “Ye were determined to become a nun, to take holy vows.” When Pearl flushed, he continued, “Are ye still of the same mind?”
“Nay,” she answered quietly, her chin dipping just slightly. “I will always regret it took the deaths of two good men afore I was willing to admit how foolish
I was.”
The older man paused for a moment, then hummed. “So ye willnae marry Christ, and ye willnae marry the laird yer father chose for ye.”
“Nay—aye, I mean. I belong here. I will stay here.”
Duncan Sinclair dropped his hands to the desk in front of him and leaned slightly. “An’ I will have all my jewels spoken for. The gossip of leaving one of my girls unmarried, unmatched with a good man…” He shook his head as he trailed off.
But Pearl scoffed. “Gossip?” She turned just enough to rest her look on Gregor. “I donae—I donae need to be married.”
What was she telling him? That she was willing to stay at home, unmarried, forever? Did she expect him to come to her, to be with her, if she remained? Gregor’s jaw hardened. He already knew it would be a living hell to have her here in the keep unclaimed for the rest of her life…but now to see the clear hope in her eyes when she looked at him?
Mayhap Gregor should start praying the Sinclair did pull his sword and run him through for his crimes. That way, he wouldn’t have to live with her temptation.
The old man’s eyes were flicking between the two of them. He cleared his throat. “Ye do need to be married, wee Pearl. ’Tis why I’ve made so many alliances this year. I need to ken all my daughters are married to good men, in case—Well, it doesnae matter. But I need to ken ye’re safe.”
“Can’t I be safe here?” she asked in a small voice. “I donae want to go away.”
Sighing, the old man scrubbed a hand over his face. “What do ye want, wee Pearl?”
Her head jerked back, as if surprised. Had he never asked her that afore? She opened her mouth, but her father waved a hand to interrupt her.
“I ken, ye want to stay on Sinclair land. I mean, if yer laird and father demands ye belong to another man, a good man, to keep ye safe…what compromise do ye suggest?”
Pearl’s eyes flicked toward Gregor, but focused on her father once more. She bit her lip, obviously considering his words. Then she took a deep breath.
“I want…I want to be useful. Here. I donae want to be the lady of a keep far away. The Sinclairs are my people, and I love them. If ye say I have to be married, then…” Her breath exploded out of her, as if she was confessing something secret. “Then I’d want to ken my husband is here, too, working beside me. I want a simple life, Da. I want a cottage and laughter and kenning I’m useful. I want my people to ken they can call on me, and I’ll still be there for them. I’m no’ afraid of working hard, an’ I want a husband who loves me for it.”
