by Caroline Lee
She met Gregor’s eyes once more, and he felt his throat close up again. Not the way it did in his nightmares, remembering his near-death, but the way it’d done once or twice since she’d begun to really see him. Everything she just said sounded beautiful to him. She deserved riches and velvets and fine wines and roasts, but if she’d be happy with simplicity and ales and mutton, might she be happy with him?
The Sinclair hummed again, thoughtfully, as he looked between the two of them. His eyes settled on Gregor. “And ye?”
Gregor’s attention snapped back to the older man, unsure what he meant. One brow rose, in his old way of communicating. The Sinclair understood and clarified.
“What do ye want?”
He didn’t hesitate in answering. “I want to be useful,” he rasped. “To serve ye. To repay ye.”
I want to never give ye reason to doubt my loyalty.
As if he heard the unspoken words, Duncan Sinclair moved from around the desk. When he gestured Gregor forward, the younger man moved from his spot in front of the door to stand beside Pearl.
Where he belonged.
The Sinclair looked between the two of them. When his eyes settled on Gregor once more, they were contemplative. “Do ye remember what I said to ye, that day I saved yer life?”
As if every moment of that day wasn’t seared into Gregor’s memory. He dipped his chin. “Aye.”
The older man watched a moment more, as if not sure Gregor was telling the truth, then switched his attention to his daughter. “Laird Sutherland caught him stealing a sheep, ye ken. There’d been a group of reavers preying on his shepherds, an’ we were out huntin’ when we caught this one with the animal slung over his back.”
Pearl’s chin went up. “I ken,” she snapped.
Her father’s brows rose. “Do ye, now?” He seemed surprised Gregor had shared the information, but shrugged and continued. “Sutherland chased him down, released the animal, and passed judgement on the boy. It was his right as laird, of course, an’ he needed to show his people he was delivering justice.”
This time, Pearl didn’t seem as eager to agree. “I ken.”
Gregor approved. She was finally understanding who he was. Who he’d been. A criminal. A thief who didn’t deserve her pity.
“So, Sutherland strung him up, an’ we stayed to watch him die.”
She was beginning to look ill. “Da…”
But her father didn’t stop. “We were sitting there on our horses, watching the lad strangle, and I saw his bony legs kickin’ an’ his skinny arms scrabbling at that rope, and I kenned he’d only been reavin’ because he was desperate.”
Aye, that had been the case. After Mam’s death, Gregor’s father had shown up, full of stories of riches and meat and women. But after a winter starving in a cave, being kicked and punched just for the hell of it, Gregor had lost all naivete. That sheep, the one which had nearly been his death, would’ve been his first meat in almost a month.
“He was big, aye, but hungry. And hungry men do desperate things.” The Sinclair’s eyes turned back to Gregor. “So, I rode up to him an’ cut him down. Sutherland objected, but I told him ye were my responsibility. Do ye remember my words to ye when ye woke?”
Aye. “Ye told me I was yers, an’ would be forever.”
The laird nodded. “I told ye yer life belonged to me, an’ I could do what I wanted with it. Ye remember what I said next? I told ye I’d chosen to make ye a good man. An’ how did I do that?”
Gregor swallowed. “Ye gave me yer knife. Told me ye trusted me,” he whispered.
“Aye, I trusted ye to make the right choice. To be loyal to the man who’d saved yer life.”
Closing his eyes so his laird didn’t see the truth, Gregor swallowed his shudder. He owed this man everything, and how had he repaid him?
By falling in love with his daughter.
“Well, my Hound?” Dunclan Sinclair asked in a low voice.
Hound.
His eyes flew open once more.
My Hound.
That was who Gregor was. He dropped to a crouch long enough to pull the knife from his boot. The knife which hadn’t left his side for a decade. The knife which had saved his life more than once.
He straightened and flipped it around, offering it hilt-first to the Sinclair.
The older man glanced down at it. His nostrils flared. “Ye’re giving it back?”
“I’ve broken yer trust,” Gregor rasped.
The laird cocked his head as he studied Gregor. “Have ye? Have ye followed me, followed my orders, for nigh on ten years?”
Unsure now, Gregor nodded.
“An’ have ye been loyal to me, protecting me from harm and ensurin’ my family was safe?”
That was what he’d lived for. Gregor nodded again.
“An’ have ye lived up to my trust an’ become a good man? A decent man, no’ a villain, who can hold his head up an’ have a place in a clan? A good man, who his people cheer as a hero?”
Gregor’s jaw flexed as emotion clawed its way up his already-tight throat. He’d had all that, before this journey. But all he managed was, “I’m no’ a hero.”
“But ye’re a good man.”
Not even bothering to hide it, Gregor turned to look at Pearl. She was staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, and he hated to disappoint her, but he shook his head.
“I thought I was.”
He had been a good man, until he had to choose between his honor and the woman he loved.
“Ye’ve been with my daughter for a fortnight. I’ve seen the way ye’ve looked at her, over the years, ye ken.”
Gregor’s gaze slammed back into the older man’s. He’d seen what, exactly?
The laird’s chin dropped. “Ye look at her like ye want to make her yers. But she’s one of my jewels, lad. So, I have to ken the truth. Ye’ve been with her for near a fortnight, an’ alone for a sennight.” He paused, then pushed on. “Did ye touch her?”
This was it. Gregor took a breath. “Aye.”
“Nay!” Pearl cut in frantically. “I mean, aye, but he took naught which wasn’t offered, Da!”
Without dropping the older man’s gaze, Gregor slipped the knife into his belt and held out his hand toward her. He didn’t want her to draw her father’s anger; he wanted the blame laid solely on his own strong shoulders.
She followed his unspoken command to stay silent, but she wrapped both hands around his, twining her fingers through his. He couldn’t help it; he gave her hands a little squeeze, and was gratified when she squeezed back. She was letting him know she was there for him, supporting him.
It was more than someone like him should’ve dreamed of. He inhaled deeply, fortified by her strength.
“I took naught at all, laird. I only gave.”
Pearl was still a virgin, because although it had damn near killed him, Gregor had been able to control himself. He still had enough honor for that.
He was still a good man.
His chin came up at the same time the Sinclair seemed to reach the same conclusion, judging by the flicker of respect in the older man’s eyes.
“And do ye love her?”
There was no hesitation this time. “Aye,” Gregor rasped.
Beside him, Pearl sucked in a breath. “Nay!” she whispered. Then, “Ye do?”
He held the laird’s gaze a moment longer, but when the old man didn’t seem inclined to respond, Gregor gave his attention once more to the woman beside him.
“Aye, lady,” he said. “’Tis impossible no’ to.”
“No’ to love me?”
She sounded dazed. Her eyes were wide, staring at him as if he had two heads. Was his confession so unusual?
He inclined his head in agreement.
“Ye love me?” she repeated again.
“More than I have any right to.”
Instead of answering him, instead of giving him any indication she felt the same way, or thought he was crazy for daring to love her, Pearl g
ave what he could only describe as a squeal, and dropped her hold on his hand long enough to throw her arms around him. Instinctively, he wrapped her in his embrace, and as she buried her face against his chest, he pressed his cheek to her hair.
Neither seemed to care her father was watching them.
She mumbled something against the swatch of plaid across his chest, so he loosened his hold on her just slightly.
“Aye, lass?”
She didn’t release him, but only tilted her head enough to smile up at him. Her smile was bright enough to light the night sky, even if there were tears in her eyes.
“I said, I love ye, too, Gregor. I’ve been fascinated by ye for a long while, and being with ye this last fortnight has shown me what a good man ye are. I love ye, I do.”
I love ye.
When she’d told her father what she wanted in life, and it had so closely matched his own dream, a feeling of joy had stolen over Gregor. With her words, the feeling multiplied a hundred-fold.
I love ye.
He released her long enough to cup her cheeks. He wanted to lower his lips to hers, wanted to show her how much she meant to him. But…
But they were standing in his laird’s solar, the old man watching them. Her father. Instead of showing his hope and joy at her words with a kiss, Gregor bent and pressed his forehead to hers.
When she squeezed her eyes shut, he knew she was praying, the same as he was, that there was some way to make this work.
By the desk, Duncan Sinclair cleared his throat.
Gregor was reluctant to let her go, but he had to. He owed this man everything, including his respect. He straightened and faced his laird, but snaked one arm around Pearl’s shoulders, tucking her against his side. He was loyal to the Sinclair, but he’d fight for the chance to love Pearl, if need be.
But the older man just stood there, his arms folded across his chest, looking from one to the other. Finally, he sighed, and his lips twitched under his beard.
“Well, I guess there’s only one course o’ action.”
Under his arm, Pearl stiffened. He felt her small hand come to rest on his chest, but he didn’t drop the laird’s gaze.
“Hound, ye’ve served me well these last ten years or more. Ye’ve become everything I’d hoped, the day I saved yer scrawny arse. Ye follow orders an’ are my loyal guard.”
Was he going to order Gregor to do something he couldn’t fathom?
God in Heaven, let me stay with Pearl.
The older man nodded. “But it’s time ye moved past yer position as my Hound, lad. Take yer spot among the clan—yer clan. Take the cottage I’ve offered ye, make a home.”
Gregor’s eyes widened, and he heard Pearl taking shallow breaths beside him. A home? His clan? The laird was ordering him to…to truly become a Sinclair?
“An’ in order to make a home, ye need a wife.” Duncan gestured to his youngest daughter. “My wee Pearl here is stubborn and opinionated, but she’s a good woman. Marry her and make me a grandfather soon, aye?”
Pearl sucked in a startled gasp so fast she began to cough. For his part, Gregor just stared at the older man.
Marry Pearl.
Marry Pearl, make her his wife. Wake up every morning with her pressed against him. Spend every meal listening to her chatter on about whatever she’d done, whoever she’d helped that day. Watch her grow round with his child, provide for her for the rest of their lives.
It was beyond his wildest dreams.
“Well, lad?” the Sinclair prompted.
Gregor shook his head, trying to clear it of disbelief. Marry Pearl?
He tilted his head, meeting her eyes. She’d quit coughing, but both hands covered her mouth and her face was flushed. She was either choking to death, or reacting to her father’s words.
He cocked a brow, knowing she would understand his question. Did she want this as much as he did? Or would marriage to him just mean a burden, one more thing her father forced on her?
But when she dropped her hands to poke him in the side, he saw her smile.
“Ye have to do it proper, Gregor! Use my name.”
“Are ye goin’ to spend the rest of our lives bossing me around, lady?”
She tightened her lips to hide her grin, as if he couldn’t see it dancing in her eyes. “Only if ye donae get it right the first time!”
His sigh was overly dramatic as he grabbed her free hand and raised it to his lips.
“Pearl, my love,” he rasped, “I’m a loyal Sinclair, an’ my laird has ordered me to marry ye.”
She stifled the urge to giggle. “And being loyal, ye’re duty-bound to follow his orders.” Her sigh echoed his. “Despite how happy ye may be elsewhere?”
Was that…hesitation he saw lurking in her expression, and in her tone?
He turned so that he could fully wrap her in his arms. “Aye, I’m loyal, but this order gives me great joy. So, I must beg a boon o’ ye for a change. Marry me, Pearl, so I can spend the rest of my life showin’ ye how much I love ye.”
He had to pause and swallow after such a long speech, but it was worth it to see the way she melted at his words. Her hands came up to cup his cheeks, and her smile was soft.
“Aye,” she whispered. “But only if I can do the same to ye. I love ye, Gregor.”
Despite her father looking on, Gregor dropped a kiss to her lips. A soft one, over far too soon. But when he straightened, her fingers were curled through the linen of his shirt, and she looked as if she was having trouble standing on her own.
Duncan Sinclair cleared his throat. When they both looked over, he was smiling.
“I take credit for this, ye ken. I knew Pearl needed a husband who’d keep her here.”
Gregor blinked, not understanding. In his arms, Pearl frowned. “Da, ye tried to engage me to Laird Sutherland.”
“Aye,” he said with a huge smile, “Only to force yer hand. Ye had me worried with the nunnery nonsense.” He began to chuckle. “But why do ye think I assigned my Hound to guard ye, rather than Dougal?” His laughter began to boom. “I see things, ye ken!”
As the old man slapped his belly and kept laughing, Gregor turned back to Pearl. Was it true? Had the Sinclair approved of him as a suitor for Pearl, before Gregor wondered at the possibility?
He never had the chance to ask, because Pearl surged up on her toes to kiss him, then, and he was distracted. Her fingers dug into his back, and he knew she was just as desperate for more as he was.
And behind them, the Sinclair called out, “Now, let’s start plannin’ a wedding!”
Chapter Twelve
The small kirk in the village was so full, clan members stood on the steps to watch the Hound marry one of the laird’s jewels. They cheered when she walked toward Gregor, standing beside the priest by the altar, even louder when he took her hand.
But when he bent down to whisper, “They love ye,” in her ear, she knew he was wrong. She just shook her head, smiled softly, and stood on her toes to whisper in return.
“Nay, my love. ’Tis ye they’ve come to support.”
The way he shook his head as he turned them both toward the priest told her he didn’t believe her, but that was all right. She had the rest of their lives to convince him of how respected he was by the clan.
As the marriage of a simple warrior, their celebration should’ve been modest. But since Agata’s first wedding had taken place at the Mackenzie keep, and the twins’ marriage contracts stipulated weddings on their husband’s lands, the laird had been determined to celebrate Pearl and Gregor’s marriage without sparing cost.
The servants dragged tables and benches to the courtyard, and course after course of food was brought out, toast after toast given until many of the Sinclairs were too drunk or too sated to stand. And Pearl spent the time passing from one clan member to the next, thrilled beyond measure she’d be able to stay here with them.
When the sun began its descent in the west, Gregor stood up and took her hand. There was much che
ering and yelling of advice, but he just gave the gathered crowd a good frown, which made Pearl smile as her heart began to pound.
She knew what was coming.
She watched her husband—husband—hold up one fist in some sort of signal. The men instantly quieted, which was good, because that was the only way they’d be able to hear his rasp.
“Thank ye,” was all he said, but it was enough. He was thanking them for their support, their love.
Pearl echoed in a whisper. “Thank ye.”
Her people knew how much they meant to her.
Gregor turned to her father, his father-in-law now, and placed a fist on his chest, and bowed once, a sign of respect and loyalty. Pearl peeked up at her father, sitting on a dais with the twins—it was a shame Agata couldn’t be there—and Dougal. Pearl gave them all a little curtsey, as benefitting the wife of a Sinclair warrior.
Da, of course, beamed.
And when Gregor swooped her up into his arms so quickly that she gave a little squeal and wrapped her arms around his neck, Da’s laugh boomed louder than everyone else’s.
It was the first time Gregor had carried her this way, and Pearl found herself growing breathless at how high off the ground she was. Or mayhap it was the way his large hand rested against her rear end, lifting her effortlessly.
Or mayhap it was because she was being carried to her new home, by her new husband, for their first night together.
The small cottage was at the end of a row. Her father had them built for the warriors and their families, and this one had sat empty for years. In the weeks since the laird had commanded them to marry, Gregor had ceased his constant watch on Duncan Sinclair, and begun sleeping in the cottage. The twins had even come down yesterday to help prepare it for Pearl to move in. But Pearl hadn’t seen it since Gregor had taken up residence.
