The Sinner (4 page)

W
ho would write me a letter?” Alex asked. Anyone who wished to speak to him could just get in his boat and come find him.

“Looks like it’s been through many hands to get here,” Connor said, holding out the battered parchment. “Do ye recognize the seal?”

As he studied the rose seal, vague recollections of France, perfumed messages, and assignations flitted through Alex’s head. He sniffed the letter. The faintest hint of lavender remained.

Alex broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The loopy French script tugged at his memory. This time, the image of perfect, full breasts came into his mind.

“How long are ye going to keep us waiting?” Connor asked.

“Just savoring the moment,” Alex said. “Do ye remember Sabine de Savoisy, that countess who took me to her bed soon after we arrived in France?”

“Ye cannot expect me to remember all your women,” Connor said. “I can’t count that high, let alone recall their names.”

“There was only one countess. Ye must remember Sabine—she had the enormous house outside Paris.”

Connor nodded. “And lovely breasts.”

It was unlike Connor to speak crudely in front of a woman, but he didn’t appear to notice that Ilysa was standing nearby.

“So ye do remember Sabine.” Alex looked at the date at the top of the letter.
The 10th of May in the year of our Lord 1515.
“It took a long time to get here.”

The four of them had almost no secrets, so Alex began reading aloud.

“The woman must have a vivid memory,” Ian said, “to ask ye to make such a long journey for a tumble.”

“Good as I am,” Alex said, tapping the edge of the letter against the table, “I suspect Sabine could find a man in Edinburgh if that were her only purpose. No, she has some other reason for wanting me there.”

They had fought with D’Arcy in France.

“D’Arcy has close ties to Albany,” Connor said.

So did Sabine, but Alex kept that to himself. He took a sip of his whiskey and then read the rest of the missive.

Alex set his cup down and read the letter through twice more to himself. The message was veiled, the signature indeterminate, and the seal not her official one. But then, the countess was always careful.

“Do ye have any notion what this ‘special gift’ might be?” Connor asked, reading over his shoulder. “Other than the obvious.”

Alex shook his head. “No, but I’ll go to Edinburgh for ye and find out.”

“Ye should take the letter to Teàrlag,” Ilysa said.

Connor started at the sound of her voice. “Forgive me, Ilysa, I didn’t see ye there,” he said. “What do ye say, Alex? It can’t hurt to show the letter to the old seer.”

The wind whipped Connor’s hair as he adjusted the sail. “It feels good to be out on the water.”

“Ye should get out sailing more often.” Alex was concerned about his cousin. The weight of his responsibilities showed in the lines of weariness on his face.

It was a short sail to the seer’s cottage, which sat on a ledge between the mountains and the sea. The four of them had done it countless times as lads, but today, it was just Alex, Connor, and Ilysa in the boat. Duncan had gone with Ian to visit Sìleas and the babes—despite Alex’s warning that the twins were biters. Brave man.

“How is it that you have Shaggy’s boat and not me?” Connor asked.

“Because I love her best,” Alex said, patting the rail.

Connor laughed, a welcome sound. Ilysa, who fretted about Connor more than anyone, gave Alex a grateful look.

A short time later, they pulled the boat into the cove below Teàrlag’s house and climbed the slippery steps cut into the stone cliff. Teàrlag was waiting for them outside her cottage. Despite the mildness of the early summer day, she was hunched over with two shawls wrapped around her, as if facing a bracing wind.

“I saw ye coming,” she said, by way of greeting.

With her one good eye, Teàrlag couldn’t see much in the usual sense, but she was a seer of great repute. Most folk avoided her, for she had an unnerving proclivity for predicting death.

They went inside, and Ilysa unloaded the basket of food she’d brought while Alex and Connor sat down with Teàrlag at her tiny table.

“Hush, they’ll be gone soon,” Teàrlag said to her cow, who was mooing in complaint on the other side of the half wall that divided the cottage. “Ilysa, get my whiskey. ’Tis no every day I have a visit from our chieftain.”

“We need your help with a letter,” Connor said after they’d downed their drinks.

Alex unfolded the parchment and held it flat on the table. Of course, the seer couldn’t read, but that wasn’t the point of bringing it.

“It’s from a woman who says she has a special gift for me,” Alex said. “Can ye tell me what it might be?”

Teàrlag cackled. “A special gift? Is that what they call it now?”

Ach, even the old seer had to joke.

Ilysa helped Teàrlag to the hearth, took a small bowl of herbs from the shelf, and tossed a pinch onto the fire. After breathing deeply from the burst of pungent smoke, the old seer shuffled back to her stool and placed her hands on the letter.

“I see three women, Alex Bàn MacDonald,” she said in a far-off voice.

Only three?
Alex hardly needed a seer to tell him there were women in his future. In fact, Teàrlag had been seeing women in his future since he was twelve.

“On your journey, three women will call on ye for help, and ye must give it,” she said. “But beware! One brings danger and another deceit.”

Alex rarely refused a woman anything, so this did not concern him. And a little danger and deceit just made things interesting.

“What about the third lass?” he asked.

“Ach.” Tearlag gave him a sour look. “One has the power to fulfill your deepest desires.”

Alex grinned. “Danger, deceit, and deep desires—I’m looking forward to this journey.”

Teàrlag closed her eyes and rocked side to side, making a strange humming sound. Alex often wondered how much of Teàrlag’s performance was for show.

“Ye are a sinner, Alexander Bàn,” she called out. “And the time will come soon when ye will pay for your sins.”

Teàrlag was not the first to make this particular prediction. Alex was almost certain she was merely lecturing him now, as she had since he was a lad.

“What about the gift?” Connor asked.

Teàrlag was silent for so long that Alex thought she might have gone to sleep.

“I see brightness, like a moonbeam,” Teàrlag said, waving her hand in front of her face.

Alex snorted. A moonbeam. Ach, that would be a useful gift. Now, if it was a sword, well, a man could always use another good sword.

“’Tis no a sword,” Teàrlag said, snapping her eyes open. “This is an important gift, and ye must fetch it. Now go!”

They left Ilysa with Teàrlag, who was teaching her the old remedies. Duncan had forbidden his sister from training with the old seer, but Ilysa was one of the few creatures on God’s earth who was not intimidated by him.

“That was even stranger than usual,” Alex said, as soon as they were outside the cottage. “But I hope ye noticed that Teàrlag did not foresee a marriage for me.”

“I want Duncan looking for a wife as well while ye are at the rebel gathering,” Connor said, undeterred.

“He won’t,” Alex said. “Duncan still loves your sister.”

“Moira’s married,” Connor said. “’Tis time Duncan forgot her and found a wife.”

“He won’t.”

“We shall all do what we must to protect the clan,” Connor said.

Connor was sounding more like a chieftain all the time.

“And Alex, ye have a bad habit of attracting women ye shouldn’t,” Connor said. “Try not to make us any new enemies while you’re gone—we have enough to spare already.”

G
lynis pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face as she and her father entered the castle’s courtyard, which was already crowded with guests. The MacNeils of Barra and the Macleans of Duart had a long friendship, and she had been to Duart Castle many times. But this was her first large clan gathering since the end of her marriage.

When the Maclean chieftain saw her father, he broke away from his other guests to greet them. “Chieftain MacNeil, I welcome ye once again to my home.”

Not many people made Glynis uneasy, but Lachlan Cattanach Maclean, otherwise known as Shaggy, was one. She was accustomed to fierce warriors, but Shaggy was unpredictable. In truth, she thought him a little mad.

“I had to leave my wife at home, as she is with child,” Glynis’s father said.

“A wife who does her duty by providing her husband with children,” Shaggy said, “is the only kind of wife worth keeping.”

Glynis wasn’t sure if Shaggy meant to insult her or his current wife, Catherine Campbell.

“As ye can see, I brought Glynis instead,” her father said. “I’m hoping to find her a new husband.”

Glynis ducked her head still lower, though what she wanted to do was kick her father.

“Your daughter has grown shy,” Shaggy said.

Her father coughed.

“Not beating up the lads like ye used to?” Shaggy said to her. “Just stabbing them, aye?”

“Only when provoked,” she murmured while Shaggy laughed, and her father rammed his elbow into her side.

“If my wife,
the earl’s daughter
,” Shaggy said with sarcasm so heavy it scraped the floor, “would lower herself to greet my guests, I’m sure she would show ye the chamber set aside for the visiting lasses.”

“Glynis can find it,” her father said. “We’ll visit with the other guests in the hall first.”

Glynis had barely set foot in Duart Castle, and already she was counting the hours until they left. Once inside the keep, they stood at the entrance to the hall surveying the noisy room. Many clans were represented, judging by the number of men dressed in the saffron shirts and fine wool plaids of highborn clansmen.

“The young chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat is an elusive man,” her father said, his voice rasping with displeasure. “It doesn’t appear he has come.”

“You shouldn’t have either, da,” Glynis said. “Joining this rebellion was a mistake, and ye should quit it now.”

“Did I ask your advice, daughter? These are no matters for women to decide.”

“Please, da,” Glynis said, and pulled at his arm. “Don’t agree to do anything more.”

Preventing her father from becoming more deeply involved in this rebellion was the sole reason she’d agreed to come to the gathering without being bound and gagged.

“Your chances of catching a chieftain are poor now,” her father said, his eyes traveling the room. “If ye had proven yourself a good breeder, it might be different.”

Glynis told herself that her father didn’t realize how his harping on her failure to conceive was like a blade in her heart. It was the only way she could forgive him for it.

“Remember,” he said, “‘Honey may be sweet, but no one licks it off a briar.’”

Glynis sucked in her breath.

“What is it?” her father asked.

Her hands shook as she smoothed her skirts and tried to gather herself. Her former husband, Magnus Clanranald, the man who had humiliated and shamed her, was in the hall. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since the night she left him. As usual, Magnus was giving his full attention to the breasts of a buxom lass who was on his lap.

“I didn’t know Magnus would be here,” her father said, following her gaze.

Her face burned, and her eyes stung. She should have stuck her blade into Magnus’s black heart when she had the chance.

“I don’t believe ye,” she said. “Ye knew damned well Magnus would be here.”

Glynis turned and bolted out of the keep.

“How did Connor convince us to visit Shaggy Maclean?” Alex eyed Duart Castle looming ahead of them on a rock cliff.

Duncan was playing his whistle and didn’t trouble himself to respond. It was a sad tune, of course.

“I hope the accommodations are better than on our previous visit,” Alex said. The last time they were at Shaggy Maclean’s castle, they were prisoners in his dungeon.

Duncan tucked his whistle inside his shirt. “Then keep your distance from Shaggy’s wife this time.”

“Ye can’t blame that on me,” Alex said. “She took advantage of me when I was weak from the beating they gave me. I hadn’t the strength to resist her.”

“Ye never have the strength to resist a willing lass.”

“Willing? I thought the woman would eat the meat off my bones,” Alex said. “And ye owe me thanks, for she did help us escape Shaggy’s dungeon.”

“We would have found another way out,” Duncan said. “We always do.”

“Shaggy’s wife is a Campbell,” Alex said to annoy Duncan. “I should do my part to bring us closer to such a powerful clan.”

Shaggy had wed the Campbell chieftain’s sister in a bid to bring peace between their clans. The two hated each other, however, which just went to show that marriage was a poor basis for forming an alliance.

That made Alex think of Glynis MacNeil’s disastrous marriage. In truth, he thought of Glynis surprisingly often. She was a damned intriguing woman, though not his sort at all. He liked women with easy natures—and easier virtue.

“Why don’t ye just get a mistress like a normal man?” Duncan asked.

Alex made a face. “Ach, no. A mistress can become too much like a wife.”

He had seen that happen too many times. As a lad, it was always his shoulder they wept on when his father sent them away. Alex used to warn the women, but it was no use. After a few months, they always expected a permanent arrangement of one kind or another.

“At least I like the women I bed. I even talk to them—something ye might try,” Alex said. “Do ye ever speak to your mistress, other than to say ‘pass the fish’ and ‘take your clothes off’?”

“Time to lower the sails, lads,” Duncan called out to the other men. “Take an oar.”

Unfortunately, they couldn’t arrive at Shaggy’s in the boat they stole from him, so they were sailing one of the war galleys. Though it was large enough to carry fifty warriors, Connor had been able to spare only the eighteen needed to man the oars.

“I expect Rhona believes that behind all that silence you’re thinking deep thoughts about her,” Alex said, as he leaned on the rudder. “You’ve had her in your bed for months, and yet ye wouldn’t care if she left tomorrow, would ye?”

“I don’t mind her.” Duncan shrugged. “We meet each other’s needs, and she doesn’t cause a fuss like your women do.”

“
Meet each other’s needs.
” Alex snorted. “That sounds like a fine time.”

“Rest your oars,” Duncan called out, and they glided into shore below the castle.

Alex was already bored listening to the men who were gathered in the castle courtyard. As always, there was a lot of pointless talk about returning to the glory days when half the Highlands answered to the Lord of the Isles, rather than to the King of Scotland.

For a hundred and fifty years, the Lord of the Isles had been the leader of all the branches of the Clan MacDonald and their vassals, which had included the Macleans, the MacLeods, the MacNeils, and the rest. Under the Lordship, the clans had followed old Celtic law and customs. That part had not changed much—they still ignored Scottish law and directives from the church in Rome, except when convenient.

But it had been more than twenty years since the Lord of the Isles had been forced to submit to the crown. Without a single leader, the clans fought among themselves all the time. That did not, however, keep them from rising against the Crown again and again.

“We’ll burn Inverness!” one young man shouted, clenching his fist in the air.

“Not again.” Alex sighed and turned to Duncan. “How many times has Inverness been burned?”

“Some men are practicing in the field behind the castle,” Duncan said. “Since we may fight these rebels one day, let’s see how good they are.”

As Alex and Duncan entered the field, the men halted their practice. Twenty pairs of hostile eyes fixed upon them.

“What are the MacDonalds of Sleat doing here?” one man said loud enough for all to hear. He was a MacLeod warrior with a long scar down the side of his face.

“We’re not your enemies,” Alex said.

“Then why has your clan not joined the rebellion?” another man asked.

“Because we’re just brimming with goodwill to all,” Alex said, spreading his arms out.

Most of the men laughed and that might have been an end to it, if not for a young man with a weedy beard and weasel eyes.

“I say the MacDonalds of Sleat refuse to join us because they are poor fighters.” The man paused, then added, “Or else they are just cowards.”

“That’s it,” Duncan said, as he unsheathed his claymore. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll fight ye,” the same fool said, and stepped forward to meet Duncan.

“Who’s next?” Alex whipped out his sword—he couldn’t let Duncan defend the honor of the clan alone. “How about you with the ugly face?”

As Alex fought the MacLeod warrior, he watched the other fight out of the corner of his eye. Duncan fought with his usual cool control. His opponent was red-faced and cursing as he fell back, again and again, under the pounding assault of Duncan’s claymore. In no time, the man was flat on his back with Duncan’s foot on his chest and the point of Duncan’s sword just beneath his weedy beard.

After Alex and Duncan defeated three or four opponents each, tempers cooled, and the other men resumed their practice as if nothing had occurred.

“That felt good,” Alex said, as he and Duncan rested against the castle wall. They watched the others, commenting in low voices on their skill or lack of it.

But then Alex’s attention was caught by a woman who came out of the castle gate. She made an abrupt turn and walked toward them at a furious pace with her head down.

“Is that Glynis MacNeil?” Duncan asked.

“Aye. What in the hell is she doing out here alone?” There were other women at the gathering, but they had the sense to stay inside the keep or stick close to their men.

Alex caught her arm as she charged past him.

“Ye can’t go—” The words dried in his mouth. He’d forgotten what an impact her face had on him. He tried telling himself that she wasn’t any more beautiful than a hundred women he knew—but there was something about her that stole his thoughts away.

Glynis was staring right back at him with her luminous gray eyes. Though he knew it was a mistake, he let his gaze drop to her mouth. Her lips were parted. The memory of that kiss on the beach sang through his body, bringing everything to full attention.

Alex gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t let that happen again.

“You look upset,” Alex said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But then she glanced back toward the gate, and the color drained from her face.

A heavily muscled warrior with a full black beard and black eyes to match had just come into the field. He had his claymore strapped to his back and looked as if he meant to join the practice. But when his gaze fell on Glynis, he stopped in place. The tension running between the two of them was as palpable as a taut rope holding a sail in a storm.

“Who is he?” Alex asked.

“The chieftain of Clanranald,” she said so low he could barely hear her. “Magnus, my former husband.”

“He looks as if he harbors a grudge against ye,” Alex said.

“He would have preferred I left our marriage for the grave.”

“You!” Magnus roared, as he pulled his claymore from his back.

“Take her.” Alex shoved Glynis toward Duncan and positioned himself a few paces in front of them, his stance wide and his sword ready.

“Watch yourself,” Duncan said in a low voice behind him. “This one knows how to fight.”

The Clanranald chieftain raised his claymore over his head and roared again as he ran headlong toward them. The blow was so strong that Alex felt the vibration to his feet.

“Ye forget you’re a guest here,” Alex grunted between their next exchange of blows.

The man’s eyes were wild with rage, and he swung his sword with the force of a boulder crashing down a cliff. For a man so heavy with muscle, he was quick, too. It took all of Alex’s skill and strength to force him toward the middle of the field. When Alex had him well away from the wall, he risked a glance to be sure Duncan had gotten Glynis inside the castle gate.

Diverting his attention for even a moment was a mistake. Alex had to drop to the ground to avoid the Clanranald chieftain’s next swing. He felt the wind of the blade in his hair. Before he could get to his feet, his opponent brought his sword straight down with a loud grunt. Alex rolled out of the way just before the blade thudded to the ground.

This was no practice fight—the Clanranald chieftain was trying to kill him.

The two of them crossed swords up and down the yard. Alex spun around and hit Magnus’s back so hard with the flat of his sword that he nearly knocked the chieftain off his feet. When a cheer went up, Alex became aware that a crowd had gathered to watch them.

But Alex wasn’t putting on a show this time. He was fighting for his life.

Sweat poured down his back as he alternately blocked Magnus’s sword and swung his own. At last, he sensed his opponent tiring. They leaned into each other, swords crossed, and faces inches apart.

“Only a weak man would let a lass upset him so much,” Alex taunted him.

“She doesn’t upset me,” Magnus hissed, his black eyes bulging with fury.

When they broke apart, Magnus came at him hard, but his swings were less controlled. Alex spun and danced around him, swinging again and again, wearing him down.

“I hear she cut your ballocks off,” Alex said just loud enough for Magnus to hear him, “and left ye less than a man.”