The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle

by Caroline Lee

  “What is this?”

  “Tis an easel,” she called laughingly over her shoulder. “Bring it over here so I can show ye how to set it up!”

  That’s when he realized she was carrying a board under her other arm, and a collection of pots and vials on a tray.

  “Is this the painting ye threatened me with, lass?”

  “It wasnae a threat, husband, but a promise. Callan has been pleading to paint with ye since our ride.” As she spoke, she deftly assembled the easel and placed the board on it. “I put him off, explaining ye have important work to do, but I’m no’ sure how much longer he’ll last afore he explodes.”

  Satisfied, she turned and grinned at Jaimie. “And I thought ye might like yer first lesson to be in private, before ye allow a seven-year-old to humiliate ye.”

  He rolled his eyes as he crossed to her, instinct telling him to place his hands on her hips, to draw her closer as he teased her. Although they were married, although she had changed his life in such a short amount of time, they hadn’t reached that level of intimacy yet. He’d bedded her, aye, but not since that first night. In the last sennight, since he’d taken on the mantle of responsibility, since that ride where she’d sat on his lap, safe and content… they had not touched again. No matter how much he ached to have her in his arms, no matter that the night he’d spent sleeping beside her had been his best sleep he could remember, he knew the next step had to come from her.

  And so, he halted just out of arm’s reach. Because he knew if he was any closer, he’d be hard-pressed to stop touching her. “And so ye thought to interrupt me in the middle of my important work, wife?” he asked with a fierce scowl. “I’m Callan’s regent! That means my sorry arse has work to do, ye ken!”

  And damn him if he didn’t catch a seductive glint in her eyes as the corners of her lips pulled up. “Aye,” she breathed, “but I ken a hard-working man needs to take breaks sometimes, and this seemed as good a time as any.”

  Vaguely, Jaimie realized he was alone in the solar with his wife. This room had always been David’s, but in the last sennight, Jaimie had made it his. And now, with Agata here, he suddenly wanted to make it theirs.

  As if she could read his mind, Agata stepped toward him. “I want…”

  He found himself leaning toward her, straining, aching. “Aye, lass?” he asked breathlessly.

  Suddenly, she flushed and dropped her gaze to his chin. Was she nervous? “I want ye to ken how proud I am of ye. And the work ye’ve done. If ye really donae want an interruption, I can leave ye alone…”

  Jaimie’s breath whooshed out of him on a desperate little laugh. “Believe me, lass, the last thing I want ye to do right now is leave.”

  She peeked up at him, and Jaimie was entranced with this side of his take-charge wife. He tried a grin in response, and was gratified when her eyes flashed in pleasure. His gaze dropped to her lips, and the way they parted in surprise. He dragged his tongue over his lower lip, wondering yet again how hers would taste.

  He’d nigh forgotten what he’d blurted, when she shyly asked, “And the verra first thing ye want me to do right now?”

  Mayhap it would have been smarter to think through his response, but Jaimie quickly replied, “Trust me, lass, ye donae need to ken what’s going on in my mind when I look at ye.”

  “Why not,” she challenged.

  There was the feisty wife he was falling in love with. He raised his brow.

  “I mean,” she clarified, “why do ye think I donae want to ken?”

  That question hadn’t been what he’d expected. Flustered, Jaimie ran one hand through his hair, pulling it away from his face before he realized what he’d done. Knowing how close he stood to her, and how all of his scars were on display, he quickly dropped the locks over his left cheek.

  “Because what a man thinks about when he sees a woman, especially a woman as desirable as ye, isnae fit conversation.”

  Apparently not understanding his warning, she took yet another step closer until mere inches separated them. She tilted her head back and met his eyes. “Surely ye donae believe that? Surely ’tis acceptable for a wife to ken what her husband is feeling when he looks at her? For her to ken what he wants from her?”

  And that’s when she reached up and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, tucked his hair behind his ear once more.

  Aye, it would have been smart to step away then. But the shock of her touch burned him, burned as deeply as the cold had that winter night when he’d gone looking for Aileen. Aileen, who’d once touched him so gently, but as he’d soon realized, never with the same compassion Agata now showed.

  Aileen had made him who he was today. Not just the ruined drunk, but the man without honor.

  The man who’d bedded his brother’s wife.

  “Jaimie?” she prompted, and he remembered she was still waiting for a response.

  So he gave her as much of an explanation as he could. “I ken what ye deserve, Agata, and it isnae a husband like me.”

  She frowned as she dropped her hand back to her side. “Do ye think I deserve a husband like David? Big and brawn, and certain he had the right of things, he wouldnae consider anything else? Ye think Callan and I deserve a hard man like that?”

  Flustered, Jaimie did step away, shaking his head. “Nay, God kens I cursed that part of him plenty of times.” In desperation, he held up his hands, palms out. “But ye deserve a whole man, Agata, a husband with honor who’ll treat ye that way. Instead, ye’re stuck with—”

  Without waiting for him to finish, she grabbed his hand, twining her fingers through his, pressing their palms together.

  “Ye think ye’re not whole? Ye think ye’re ruined?”

  “Aye, I ken it!” The words burst out of him, part relieved, part incredulous she didn’t see it. With a jerk of his chin, he dislodged the hair from behind his ears so it swung back in front of his scar. “I ken who I used to be, Agata, and I ken who I’ve become.”

  “Nay, Jaimie,” she said gently. “That’s who ye had become. Ye’re becoming someone else now.” She lifted their clasped hands a little higher. “Callan had the right of it. Yer fingers bend, so ye can draw a bow. Ye can still wield a sword and a stylus, even if ye mostly tell Edward what to write. Those are the two most important things a laird—or a laird’s regent—needs, aye?

  God Almighty, but her eyes sparkled when she was passionate! This close, Jaimie could see the flecks of gold sprinkled throughout their dark depths, and was completely entranced.

  “Aye,” he whispered, not sure what he was agreeing to. “But they’re not the only things.”

  Her lips lifted into a smile. “Then together, we’ll learn the rest.”

  He couldn’t seem to look away, even when he shook his head in denial. “I… lass, nay. My hands…”

  As if to illustrate his point, he tightened his grip on her fingers just briefly before releasing her. But rather than remind her how broken he was, a small laugh slipped out of her lips.

  “Oh, Jaimie! There’s naught yer hands cannae do.”

  Without waiting for him to deny it, she lifted his left hand, untwined their fingers, and gripped him around the wrist. Staring into his eyes, she brought his ruined fingers to her face…and brushed them down her cheek.

  The sensation of her smooth skin under his sent a shudder through him, and he had to close his eyes on the burst of desire which had nearly overwhelmed him. How long since he had allowed himself to touch a woman like this? Not taking her from behind, but from where they touched at the most intimate places… really touched. Caressed her.

  Love her.

  Over three years. That’s how long it’d been. Aileen hadn’t been the last, but she’d been the first. The first to show him how much pleasure could be found in touch.

  And now, not only was Agata suffering his touch, she was encouraging it.

  “See?” she whispered, her voice floating across his skin made him shudder again. “Ye feel that, do ye no
’?”

  “Aye,” he managed to choke out.

  She lifted his hand again and brushed his fingers across her face. Then, while he was still reeling from the memory of a woman’s skin, she pressed his palm to her cheek and inhaled deeply.

  His eyes flew open at the sound, which was so much like a noise of pleasure, he thought he was in his chambers at the royal palace once more, one—or more—of the queen’s ladies wrapped in his arms. But nay, he wasn’t in bed, and he wasn’t naked… but it felt the same.

  There was something in Agata’s gaze… something hopeful and yearning.

  “See, Jaimie?” she whispered the question. “Yer hands are quite capable. Capable of feeling. Capable of touching. Capable of giving pleasure.”

  And with that, she lifted his other hand and placed his palm across her heavy breast.

  He rocked forward, his hand flexing in response to the long-forgotten sensation. But she pressed harder, and her breast sunk into his palm.

  Knowing full well he was holding his breath, Jaimie’s eyes widened—part in shock, part in fear, and partly because his cock was suddenly rock-hard.

  “’Tis fine, husband,” she whispered. Then she lowered her hand.

  And for a long moment, Jaimie wasn’t sure if he should lower his, too. He was torn between doing the right thing and the hunger which had settled low in his gut. Then she made the decision for him by taking a deep breath and pushing her breast into his palm.

  With a groan of surrender, he dropped his hand from her check to her other breast, but refused to release her gaze. Nay, this was at her urging, and he wouldn’t look away. Instead, he held her gaze captive while he brushed his thumbs across her nipples. They might be covered in a layer of wool and her chemise, but he could feel the small pebbles nonetheless. Her breasts were heavy, and he loved the size and feel of them.

  He wanted to lower his lips to her neck, to the collar of her gown. He wanted to taste, to lick, to suckle. He squeezed her once more, and loved the way her eyes widened and her nostrils flared.

  It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman who didn’t take coin, but he hadn’t forgotten the signs of a woman’s arousal.

  They’d gone about things the wrong way, hadn’t they? He’d bedded her on their wedding night, cruelly and without thought to their future. But now… doing something as simple as caressing her breasts while both of them were fully clothed seemed like the biggest step forward since she’d held his hand last week.

  “Ye see, Jaimie? Yer hands are quite capable.”

  And despite his vow to give her control, to let her tell him when she was ready, he was already tempted to capture her lips… then she stepped back, out of reach.

  His excitement abated, as did his erection.

  “Now, we have work to do.”

  Jaimie actually staggered as she turned to the table where she’d placed her tray and began pulling out vials. She’d released him from his trance so abruptly, he felt weak.

  God Almighty, but his palms itched to hold her again. He ached to hold her again. But she clearly wasn’t ready. She’d been teaching him a lesson, a lesson about his abilities, and it had worked.

  He clenched his hands, determined to keep the memory of her perfect breasts rubbing against him, and took a deep breath.

  She was the one who controlled this—whatever this was between them. If she wasn’t prepared for him to do aught more than cup her breasts, then that would be enough for him.

  She was speaking again. He took a deep breath, his hands still clenched at his side, and forced himself to focus on her words, as if his world hadn’t just been shaken to its core.

  “This is malachite, which I’ve crushed already.” Carefully, she poured some of the green powder into a shallow dish, then did the same with some white powder. “And this is lead white. ’Tis created using the same method as verdigris, only in this case, it’s lead—no’ copper—which is suspended over a caustic liquid like vinegar, then sealed for a month. The powder which forms is scraped off and can be used to make paint.”

  When she glanced over at him, her expression asking if he was listening, Jaimie made himself nod. He was still reeling from her casual touch, but realized if he ever wanted to know his wife, he needed to pay attention now.

  “And to make paint, ye mix the powder with egg, do ye no’?”

  Her expression brightened instantly. “Aye! This is why it’s called tempera. I mix it with the white part of an egg and some vinegar.” She turned back to the tray and picked up a small vial. She continued to lecture as she poured some of the liquid into the dish. “Tempera paint is verra moist and requires many layers to create the correct hue. It needs a steady and patient hand.”

  Jaimie couldn’t help his dismissive snort. “I donae see how ye expect me to do it, then.”

  She’d been right earlier, when she’d said Edward did most of the writing for matters of business for the clan. Although Jaimie had been educated as well as David, the loss of his fingers meant holding a stylus was difficult. In the days since he’d begun to take over clan affairs from the seneschal, they’d found it easier to limit Jaimie to signing his name. If he couldn’t hold a stylus to do aught more than that, how did she expect him to hold a paintbrush?

  Without turning, she clucked her tongue in disapproval. “One day, husband, ye’ll have enough confidence to pick up a paintbrush. But today…”

  When she turned, he saw she was holding the dish with the green powder. Only now, with intense concentration, she was mixing the powder into a sort of paste.

  “This is a new technique, coming from Italy. The paint takes forever to dry, but by mixing it with oil instead of egg white, ’tis much thicker and more vibrant. Also…” She peeked up at him with an impish smile, “It spreads thicker and can be controlled easier. We willnae need a paintbrush.”

  He frowned. “I donae understand,” he admitted.

  Without explaining herself, she thrust the dish toward him and reached for the dish of lead white paint. When that was prepared to her satisfaction, she sent him another smile.

  “Watch,” she commanded and stepped up to the easel. “I’ve prepared this board the same way I would for one of my paintings. Glue and lead white paint, sanded again and again, until ’tis nearly as flat as canvas. ’Twill hold color better than the canvas, however, and is much sturdier.” Her eyes twinkled when she flicked her gaze toward him. “Not only that, but if mistakes are made, ’tis easy to scrape off and start again.”

  He had to snort again, only this time, the laughter was rueful. If she expected him to try this, there’d be a hell of a lot of mistakes, he was certain.

  “Well, wife?” He held the dish with the malachite toward her. “Let’s see ye work yer magic.”

  Magic? Aye. As he watched the way her eyes lit with joy, he knew this wife of his was indeed worthy of magic. What she was doing, as well as who she was. Pure magic.

  As she dipped her fingers into the oil paint, then applied them to the wood, she kept up her talk about form and perspective. And he found himself watching breathlessly as a hillside took shape on the board, complete with waving grasses and small white flowers. Not just any hillside, but—Jaimie found his gaze darting for the open window—a good representation of the view he now saw every day.

  “How did ye learn to do that, lass?” he asked with no little amount of reverence in his voice. “’Tis remarkable.”

  Almost as remarkable as the flushed look of pride she gave him before shrugging off his words.

  “When we were young, our priest was a Sinclair who had spent time in a monastery and learned the art of illuminating manuscripts. Some of the nuns from the nearby abbey had participated as well, so Father Mark saw no reason not to teach an impressionable girl what he knew.”

  Her smile turned wistful as her gaze dropped to the dish of paint in her hands. “I always dreamed of joining that order, of helping to produce illuminated manuscripts which would last for centuries.” She shru
gged. “But I knew I couldnae give up the chance for…”

  When she trailed off, he had to know what she’d meant. “The chance for what?” he asked in a choked whisper.

  She shrugged again, as if the matter wasn’t important. But when she met his gaze, there was a look of fierce yearning in them he’d never seen before.

  “All this,” she whispered. “A husband. A home. Bairns.”

  Bairns? She wanted bairns, more than just Callan? If she wanted babes, she wanted to be pregnant, and if she wanted to be pregnant… she wanted to be bedded again.

  Bedding her? Nay, he couldn’t allow himself to consider that. Best to focus on what she deserved. “And ye found that in yer marriage with David?”

  “Nay,” she said as she turned back to the easel. “David couldnae give me what I wanted.”

  “And what is that?” He swallowed, not sure he wanted to hear her answer.

  When it came, her voice was so low he was afraid he had imagined it.

  “My husband’s heart.”

  Dear God in heaven, if he hadn’t been in love with her before, he was now.

  It would have been easier to pretend he hadn’t heard her, but her bravery deserved a response. He cleared his throat. “Ye deserve all that and more, Agata. I’m sorry I’m not the man—”

  Before he could finish, she whirled to face him. “The church says ’tis my duty to give ye bairns, Jaimie McKenzie.” She stepped forward and pointed one green-stained finger at his chest. “My king and my father say ’tis my duty to build a strong alliance through my marriage.” She was glaring up at him now. “But I say, if it’s one thing I do before I die, ’tis my duty to prove to ye that ye are a worthy man.”

  She stepped toward him until the paint on her finger brushed against his linen shirt, but he couldn’t make himself care.

  “Ye are a worthy man, Jaimie McKenzie!” Her expression softened. “I donae ken what happened in yer past to make ye think ye are not, but I hope one day ye trust me enough to share that story. In the meantime, I will stand before ye and beside ye, and do my best to prove ye are the man I ken ye to be.”