Born in Sin (17 page)

Callie pulled him into her arms, holding him tight,
wishing she could take the pain from his body and make the wound heal instantly.

Sin didn’t know what to say as his shoulder throbbed. The fierce pain was overshadowed by the warm softness of her breasts against his chest, of the sweet feminine lavender scent of her hair. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the soothing smell and just let her comfort wash over him.

She had her arm wrapped about his neck, her small hand buried in his hair as she held him to her. It was the most wondrous thing he’d ever felt, and for a moment he could almost pretend to be her husband in truth.

His lips were so close to her delectable smell that all he had to do was turn his head ever so slightly and he could bury them in the curve of her neck. He hardened at the thought. Not even the pain of his wound could override the desire he held for her.

“I will find and punish whoever did this,” she whispered, pulling back to stare up at him. The sincerity of those light green eyes amazed him. He stared in wonderment and ached to show her just how much those words meant to him. “I will not see you harmed.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he said dismissively.

“It could have killed you.”

“Pity it didn’t.” Aster’s barely audible words cut through him, quelling his lust instantly.

Nay, there would never be anything between him and Callie except wishful dreams. The thought stung him much more deeply than it should have.

Ignoring her uncle’s comment, Callie took his hand and led Sin into the castle.

They were going up the stairs as Simon was headed down them.

Simon nodded a greeting, walked past, then backed up the stairs to stop them. “Are you bleeding?” Simon indicated the tear in Sin’s surcoat.

“It would appear so,” Sin answered sarcastically.

“Good Lord, what happened?”

Sin shrugged. “Apparently someone doesn’t want me here. No doubt you, either, so guard your back, little brother. The last thing I want to do is tell Draven you’re dead.”

“Have no fear. The last thing I want you to do is tell him I’m dead.” Simon paused and looked back toward his room. “I’m thinking perhaps I should return to my room and don my armor before I go eat.”

“Not a bad plan.”

Callie interrupted them. “Gentlemen, please, I need to see to this wound lest he bleed to death from it.”

Sin dismissed her worry. “It missed the artery. I assure you, I won’t bleed to death from this.”

Callie frowned at her husband and his calm acceptance of everything. It was as if he expected nothing more than to be insulted and wounded. “Then humor me, please.”

Without further voiced complaints, he followed her to their room, though the look in his eyes told her that many an unspoken complaint circled in his mind.

Callie helped him pull his surcoat off. She frowned as she studied the hole where the arrow had pierced him. “Strange. You can barely see the blood on the cloth, and yet I feel it.” There was a lot of blood on the cloth, actually.

Sin looked up from his inspection of his wound.

“The black is tinted with red dye to mask any injuries I might have. In battle, it confuses and scares my enemies who know they have injured me and yet can’t see the blood.”

“Hence the invincible devil epitaph they have applied to you?”

He nodded as he took a seat on the edge of her bed and held a clean cloth to his shoulder.

Callie prepared her needle and thread and did her best not to notice just how delectable her husband’s body was when bared. The dim light in the room caught against the rich, tawny flesh, making it even more mouthwatering. Och, but the man was handsome.

“’Tis an interesting trick. Where did you learn it?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

She didn’t really expect an answer, so when she got one, it surprised her.

“While I lived with the Saracens. It was one of the lessons they taught me.”

Now she understood the strange tactics he’d used to defeat her clansmen. “The fighting you used below—they taught you that as well?”

“Aye.”

How strange, for him to be so revealing. Callie took the cloth from his hand and inspected the ravaged skin. Her stomach clenched at the new wound that lanced across skin already scarred from previous injuries. She ran her fingers over him, aching at the thought of what he had already lived through. His hard skin was so warm and his hair brushed against her hand as she prepared his shoulder by cleansing it with a wine-drenched cloth.

Her poor husband.

“How long did you live there?” she asked, trying to distract herself from his lush, muscled skin and the desire she had to kiss it and him.

“Almost five years.”

Callie paused. Five years. It was a long time to live among one’s enemies. She tried to imagine what it would have been like for her to live in London for that long while yearning to be home. No wonder he had told her he understood her need to return to her family.

Of all men, he knew it on a level she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“Why did you live with them for so long?” she asked as she drew the first stitch.

He tensed only the tiniest bit before he spoke. “I had no choice. I was their slave. Every time I tried to escape, they brought me back.”

Her heart lurched at his words. By the ragged note in his voice she could tell they had made him suffer greatly for those attempts at freedom. Her gaze dropped to the long, jagged scars across his back and she wondered how many beatings he must have suffered at their hands.

And he had been just a lad. No older than Dermot. She swallowed as it dawned on her that he would have been even
younger
than Dermot.

She carefully made another stitch. “How did you finally get away?”

“Henry. They sent me to kill him, and as I was sneaking through his camp, I had a thought that if ever I was to have freedom again, Henry would be the only one who could help me. So instead of cutting his throat, I bargained with him.”

She tied off her thread and cut it. “I’m still surprised he helped you.”

“As was I. I honestly expected him to kill me once I let him up. But I figured either way I would be free.”

The horror of it. She couldn’t imagine trying to make such a decision. “How old were you?”

“Ten-and-eight.”

“You were just a child.”

“I was never a child.”

Nay, he wasn’t. And that was the worst part about all of this. He’d spent the whole of his life as an outsider. Here, in England and in Outremer. She couldn’t imagine living like that.

Callie silently stitched the wound on his chest, then looked at his forearms where her sword had cut him. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

Sin looked up at her words. The sincerity scorched him. “You didn’t hurt me.”

She alone had never hurt him. Not yet anyway.

He stared at the tendrils of her red curls falling over her shoulders, the gentleness in her green eyes. He felt her unwillingness to hurt him as she touched his skin. It made his entire body burn ferociously, demanding he take her in his arms and ease the ache in both his heart and his loins.

She was so incredible. And he wanted her with a passion so fierce, he wondered if it would destroy him.

She dipped her head down to his, and just as he opened his lips to taste her, a loud commotion filled the air.

People shouted as a group of horses came into the courtyard below.

Callie pulled away instantly, leaving him to curse the interruption while she went to the window to see what was going on. He joined her there and looked out over her shoulder.

In the courtyard below were three riders. Her clansmen and servants were rushing about to welcome them like long-lost family as Aster and Dermot left the castle and offered up a greeting to their guests.

“The MacAllisters are here,” Callie said with a note of reverence in her voice.

Sin forced himself not to smile. She had no idea what was in store for her now.

His brother Braden rode his fierce stallion Deamhan, who pawed and stamped at the ground in aggravation at having to stop. The horse and man had much the same temperament.

Braden’s long, black hair was tangled by the ride and his dark green and black plaid was worn as haphazardly as ever.

Ewan rode next to him on the back of a roan, while the fair-haired Lochlan swung his leg over his dapple-gray and slid masterfully to the ground.

It was good to see them again.

Callie turned to face him, her cheeks bright. He arched a brow at her exuberance, somewhat stung by it. She seemed happier to see them than she did to be with him.

“I’ll go make sure they have food and drink. You dress and I will meet you below.”

Sin frowned as she rushed from the room with a light step. He looked back out the window at the cheerful crowd below that warmly welcomed his
brothers. Their shouts of greeting rang in his ears as Aster clapped Lochlan on the back like a father welcoming home his beloved son and Dermot laughed with Braden.

He supposed some things never changed.

Callie’s heart pounded as she headed down the stairs. A powerful clan, the MacAllisters had once been an ally to her own. But over the last decade, their ties had dwindled. Still, it would be good for her clan to renew the alliance, and since the MacAllister was on such good terms with the English king, mayhap it would help quell the rebels as well.

She reached the hall at the same time Aster was showing the men inside.

Callie paused as she straightened her dress. They were giants all! Standing head and shoulders above her uncle and brother, the MacAllisters made her feel very petite. Only Sin could compete with their height.

“My niece, Caledonia,” Aster said, directing their attention to her.

Callie swallowed nervously. The combined effect of the MacAllister brothers on a woman’s senses was earth-shattering and quite disconcerting.

The blond man stepped forward. He was devastatingly handsome with stern blue eyes. “Lochlan MacAllister, my lady, ’tis a pleasure to meet you.” His deep voice sent a shiver over her.

“My brother Ewan.”

She looked to the giant on his left. He was like a large black bear, his hair long and in need of a trim.

“And Braden.”

Callie nodded, hiding a smile. He was more hand
some than a man had a right to be, and she knew the reputation of this particular MacAllister brother, who was said to be able to slay a man with a single blow and fell a woman with a single kiss.

She smiled at the three of them. “’Tis a pleasure to meet all of you. Please, come and be seated.”

As she led them toward the laird’s table, Aster fell in by their sides.

“I’m sorry to have you waste your trip, lads. I had no idea the English intended to send my kin home to me.”

“I’m surprised as well,” Braden said. “It’s not like Henry to give up hostages voluntarily.”

“He didn’t,” Dermot sneered as he walked behind them. “He sent her home with a Sassenach husband.”

“Is it anyone we know?” Braden asked.

“Doubtful,” Aster answered. “I’ve never heard of him. Callie, isn’t he an earl?”

“Aye, Uncle.”

Lochlan raised a brow. “Earl of what?”

Callie paused as she realized she didn’t know. No one had ever mentioned his properties to her. “I’m not really sure. But I was told he has vast holdings.”

Callie stood to the side of the table, ready to see to the men’s needs. The servants entered with ale and platters of meat and bread at the same time Simon joined them. He approached the table with his kind, open honesty that she found so very charming.

The MacAllister brothers watched him suspiciously as he neared her.

“The MacAllisters?” Simon asked.

Callie nodded.

Simon approached them. His smile widened and
his eyes gleamed in instant friendship. He looked like a man greeting old friends he hadn’t seen in a long time. “I feel as if I already know the three of you.”

Braden stared at him with a stern frown. “You are?”

“Simon of Ravenswood. And you would have to be Braden.”

“I don’t know any Ravenswood. How did you know me?”

“Youngest and full of mischief.” He turned to Lochlan. “You would be Lochlan, who never met a rule he didn’t love. Always steadfast and ready to lay your life down for any member of your family or clan.” Then he looked at Ewan. “And you are the quiet one. Serious and short-tempered, ever ready to battle. Oh, the stories I’ve heard about the three of you.”

The brothers exchanged nervous glances.

“Heard from whom?” Lochlan asked.

“From me, you worthless lickspittle. So tell me what miracle dragged the three of you from your holes and got your lazy hides all the way here. And a day early, no less.”

Everyone in the hall froze at the harsh words.

No one with any sense would ever dare insult a single MacAllister, never mind the three of them at once.

Gasping, Callie turned her attention to the entranceway, where Sin stood, dressed in his armor, with this arms crossed over his chest. She could read nothing in his features. He merely stood there stoically as he regarded the men he’d just insulted.

Aster bellowed in rage. “How dare you insult my guests!” He turned to her with a glower. “You see the peace he brings?”

The three MacAllisters rose slowly to their feet. Like a giant wall, they moved in unison around the table toward her husband.

Callie swallowed while she saw Dermot’s amused smile. Her brother was looking forward to this confrontation.

She crossed herself.

As soon as the brothers were in arm’s reach of Sin, they laughed and swarmed him.

She stood in stunned shock as the MacAllister brothers grabbed Sin into hugs and he bristled, cursed, and slapped at their hands.

“Ow!” Sin snapped. “Let me go, you damned ogres.”

“Have your burns not healed?” Lochlan asked with a worried frown.

“Aye, they have, but I’ve a new wound throbbing, and if you don’t stop, you’ll have it bleeding again.”

“New one how?” Braden asked, his frown mirroring Lochlan’s as he pulled at Sin’s clothes as if looking for the wound. “What happened? Have you seen a physician for it?”