Chapter Eleven
Alex slept under the roof of a small cow byre crammed side-by-side and head to toe with Declan, Fergus, Magnus, and Mr. Clyne. His father spent the night inside the croft, insisting he relieve Callum’s mother from her vigil at Granny Mackay’s side.
Alex was in awe of his father’s fortitude. It took amazing strength of will to remain in the oppressive atmosphere of the croft with Granny Mackay suffering so. John Sinclair had spent ten years in the army, as opposed to Alex’s two, and had witnessed much human suffering when fellow soldiers had been wounded in battle. Perhaps his father could endure their pain because his heart had hardened to such things. Or more likely, John Sinclair’s heart held an unfathomable well of empathy for the suffering of others. Whichever the case, Alex was proud of his father. A man’s talent with a sword was important, but kindness and compassion make a great man. And Laird John Sinclair was a great man.
After breakfast, Alex spotted three riders approaching. Uncle Fergus went to alert Laird John inside the Mackay croft, while Alex, Declan, and Magnus walked toward the road, all three making certain their swords and pistols were on display. The lead rider reined in and called a halt to the riders behind him. Alex’s hands fisted when he recognized Patrick Sellar.
“You again?” Sellar said. “What the hell are Sinclairs doing on Sutherland property?”
“We’ve come to see what’s to do about Granny Mackay,” Alex said. “Seems someone tried to murder her five days ago. Set fire to her croft with her inside. Do you ken who that someone is?”
“Feeble-minded old woman probably set her own croft afire. I should charge her for the damages.” Sellar removed a rolled document from inside his coat. “I’ve come to serve a notice of eviction to the occupants of this croft.”
A voice boomed behind him. “I’ll take that.” Alex’s father strode forward.
“Laird John. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Sellar looked down his beak-like nose at Alex’s father. “Just as well. Give this to the tenants. I doubt they can read. Tell them they must be out seven days hence.”
“Certainly. Right after I finish taking statements from those that witnessed your men fire Margaret Mackay’s croft,” John said.
The smug smile vanished from Sellar’s face. His upper lip curled into a sneer. “I’ve had enough of your meddling, Sinclair. I’ll teach you not to stick your nose into my affairs.”
At the challenge, Alex drew his sword, with Declan and Magnus drawing a half second following.
“Halt!” John called.
“Having trouble controlling your men, Sinclair?” Sellar taunted.
The desire to obey his father warred with Alex’s need to spill blood. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tight his arm shook. “He’s a murderer, Da. The blackguard cannae go unpunished.” Alex, Declan, and Magnus advanced one step. “We can take them—”
“Stand down!” his father shouted.
Alex and his cousins froze.
Sensing the mounting tension, Sellar’s horse danced under him. The man laughed then spun his gelding around, nearly trampling Alex’s father in the process. All three riders took off at a gallop. John Sinclair’s jaw worked while he watched them ride away.
“Da! Why did you stop me? We had them. We had them!”
His father grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him until they were nose-to-nose. “Because I don’t countenance murder!” he shouted, then shoved him away. A vein in John’s temple pulsed with anger. “We no longer settle scores by the sword in the Highlands. We will take Patrick Sellar down, but we will do it with the law.” His father cocked a warning eyebrow at him. “Do you understand?”
Declan and Magnus sheathed their swords. After a few seconds, his bloodlust somewhat abated, and his breathing recovered, Alex sheathed his, as well. “I understand, father.” He swallowed the remainder of his rage even though it threatened to choke him.
A woman’s baleful cry split the morning air, calling the men’s attention toward the croft. Mr. Clyne stepped out, leaving the door ajar. “Mrs. Mackay has passed,” he said.
“She’s free of pain, now. May she bide in God’s good hands,” John said.
They bowed their heads and murmured a chorus of “Amen.”
John turned to his men. “Fergus. You, Declan, and Magnus see Mrs. Mackay receives a proper burial. Then help Callum and his mother gather their things and escort them to Balforss. I’ll find a place for Mrs. Mackay. Alex, you and I will return Mr. Clyne safely to Invernaver. I want everyone gone from Strathnaver by noon today. Understood? I’ve ruffled Sellar’s feathers, and he’s bound to take action. Be on your guard.”
Well after dark, Alex and John strolled their horses into the yard at Balforss. They had seen Mr. Clyne to Invernaver, thanked him, and continued eastward. But Alex and his father hadn’t spoken to each other the whole way home.
All of Balforss was asleep. Not a candle lit. Alex pulled Goliath to a stop and dismounted. His father groaned as he swung a long leg over his mare. After two days in the saddle, both men were road weary and longing for their beds.
“I’ll see to the horses.”
“Where’s that wee groom?” John asked.
“Fast asleep, nae doubt.” Alex headed off toward the stable without bidding his father good night. Their disagreement over Sellar had not been resolved. According to his mother, he and his father were as stubborn as rocks. They often butt heads about stupid things, and Alex was always the first to back down because his father was always right. But on this, John Sinclair was wrong. If they waited for the law to deliver justice, others might suffer at the hands of Patrick Sellar. Someone had to act now. Someone had to protect those unable to protect themselves. If his father refused to do it, then Alex would take care of the sodding bastard himself.
The horses followed Alex into their stalls without protest and patiently waited to be released from their trappings. He fumbled next to the door where the lantern and flint were normally stored.
“Damn.”
“You looking for the lantern, sir?”
“Is that you, Peter?”
“Aye.”
“Where’s the damn lantern?”
“The rain was getting to it, so I moved it to the other side.”
“Thanks. Go back to bed.”
“I’ll help you.”
Alex held a dry bit of hay and struck the flint several times. A moment later, the lantern cast a golden glow around the stable and its occupants. Peter stood in his nightshirt and boots, rubbing his eyes.
“See to the laird’s horse. I’ll see to Goliath.”
“Mrs. Swenson said you and the men went on an adventure.”
“Did she, now?” Alex peered over the stall wall at Peter. The boy had to stand on a stool to remove the mare’s bit.
“Aye. She said you were venturing into Sutherland on a dangerous mission.”
“There was some danger, to be sure.” He dug a wooden scoop into a barrel of oats and dumped the contents into the feeding trough.
“Did you see any pirates?”
Alex chuckled. Whether it was the stable surroundings, the boy’s company, or sheer exhaustion, he felt the tension of the last two days slip away. “Oh, aye. But not the regular sort of sea pirates. We saw land pirates.”
Peter sidestepped out of the stall, grunting with the weight of a saddle larger than himself. He hoisted the saddle onto a rail and, huffing with exertion, asked, “What did they look like?”
“Ugly as sin.” Alex launched into a stream of dramatic embellishments for the boy’s entertainment. “Their faces were covered in weeping boils. Their mouths hung open, slathering and drooling, and one of them’s teeth were filed to sharp points. Another had hair that looked like nothing but long, black snakes. The biggest had a silver ring pierced through his nose just like a bull. Och, they were a lowpin’ looking lot. Their horses were prettier than them.”
“And did you do battle with them?” Peter’s eyes were big as robin’s eggs.
“We came close. But I drew my sword and let out a war cry that could frighten a banshee.”
“Then what?”
“They turned tail and ran awa’ like scared rabbits.” He laughed and ruffled the boy’s dirty hair.
“Will you teach me to use a sword?”
Alex unsheathed his dirk and made a notch on the side of the stable door approximately five feet from the floor. “When you’re this tall, we’ll begin your training. Now get to bed.”
Peter flashed a brilliant gap-toothed smile before scampering off toward the bunkroom in the back of the stable. He’s a good lad. He was very happy for having brought Peter to Balforss.
Alex entered the house through the back door and groped his way down the dark corridor, through the dining room, and into the entry hall. He paused at the foot of the stairs. A faint light flickered through the open door to the library. Most likely his father was having a dram before bed. They should reconcile, put this disagreement to rest. He went inside to apologize.
Instead of his father, he discovered Lucy curled in the wingback chair, fast asleep, an open book on her lap, and her wee dog snoozing before the dying fire. His eyes flit from Hercules back to Lucy. She was wearing a robe of some sort with lacy edges and pink ribbons, which meant she wasn’t wearing all the stiff sorts of things underneath that guarded women’s soft parts like armor. Alex felt a stirring below his belt. His heart thumped so hard in his chest he woke the damn dog.
Hercules barked a greeting, and Lucy’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at Alex for a half second as if determining he was real, then she launched herself out of the chair, the book slipping from her lap to the carpet with a clump. Alex saw a blur of bouncing curls before her body thudded against his. He let the rush of gladness wash over him when she flung her arms around his neck and buried her head under his chin. He placed his palms on her slender back and, for the first time, he felt the give of her soft form under his hands, the warmth of her skin through her clothing, the press of her plush breasts against his hard chest.
“You feel so good.” He wished he hadn’t spoken.
Spell broken, Lucy pushed herself away from him and folded her arms over her bosom. “You were supposed to be home hours ago. You had your mother worried half to death.”
Alex grinned, liking the pink patches on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Christ, he was always apologizing to her. “I didnae mean to worry you.”
Lucy unfolded her arms and looked at the floor—something she did when she told white lies. “I wasn’t worried. I was angry you weren’t more considerate of your mother’s feelings.”
“Did you get my note?” Alex reached for her. She made a half-hearted attempt to free herself before allowing him to embrace her like before.
“You smell like a horse,” she said, sounding petulant.
“You smell like Heaven.” He nuzzled her neck and inhaled deeply. “I thought of you all day and dreamed of you all night,” he whispered.
She melted against his body. In an instant, he was rock hard, painfully so. Jesus, she made the most intoxicating sounds when he squeezed her.
…
Lucy made an involuntary mm sound when his velvety beard stubble brushed against her cheek. Then Alex placed his soft lips on hers. By some unspoken command, her mouth opened to him, inviting his tongue to delicately probe the inside of her mouth, slipping in and out just like she imagined—oh dear. That was exactly what he was doing. Demonstrating how he would—his hands slid down her backside and cupped her bottom—a roguish thing for him to do, but dear Lord, it felt so deliciously wicked.
Alex and his roving hands seemed determined to undo her, and if she lingered in his arms one more moment, she might let them. Lucy pushed herself away again.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, catching her breath. “Good night.” She fled through the library door with Hercules at her heels, both of them bounding up the stairs. She narrowly made it into the safety of her room and put the latch on. Once she had her breathing under control, she listened to Alex’s unhurried footsteps, his bedchamber door opening, closing, then a soft scratch on their adjoining door. Smiling, she put her ear to its surface.
“Did you dream of me while I was gone?” Alex asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh God, Lucy. I cannae wait to marry you.”
“Only one more week.”
Her bed was cold. The hot stone Haddie had left had lost all its heat. Lucy snuggled close to Hercules, her body trembling. Though, whether from the chilly bedding or from her recent encounter with Alex, she couldn’t tell. She liked Alex’s kisses. A lot. She liked the feel of his big hands on her back. And when he squeezed her bottom…
One more week. Only one more week and she would be Alex’s wife. In seven days, she would sleep in the same bed with Alex. He would see her naked. She would get to see him naked again. All of him. Lucy’s nipples tightened. Did all brides feel this way before their wedding? Would Lucy have felt this way if she were marrying Langley?
She didn’t think so. It was Alex who made her shiver. Only Alex, her fierce Highland warrior, could make her feel so…wanton.