The Sinclair Jewels Books One-Three: A Scottish Medieval Romance Series Bundle Page 18

  The boy grunted and kicked a stone out of their way as they reached the footpath. “Ye once let me use yer blue, but I don’t remember what it was.”

  “Azurite, as I recall. But painting the mountain gray is much easier.”

  “Aye! I liked last summer when ye showed me how to use green wi’ dots of color to paint the meadow. I still have that painting.”

  “That’s because the wood we painted on will last a while. Remember I told ye how verdigris is made? But that green tends to eat through parchment, because of the copper it’s made from.”

  That led to a discussion of distilling and alchemy, which apparently interested Callan very much. She did her best to answer his questions, although she’d always purchased her verdigris and lead white pigments, because making them involved more steps than she was willing to attempt. But she knew the basic principles—suspending the copper or lead over vinegar, sealing the vase, and burying it, then coming back in a month to scrape off the pigments—and shared what she knew.

  Although she knew more of painting than weaving, when Callan asked a question about a hue in one of the tapestries in the great hall, she tried to remember what she knew of dyeing and colors. But that reminded her of her reason for being here.

  “Have ye ever seen any tapestries in the keep with the name Sinclair on them?”

  If the boy thought the question odd, he didn’t let on. Instead, he just shook his head and kicked at another stone, his sweaty little hand tucked in hers. “Why?”

  She shrugged. If the ancient tapestry at home had the Mackenzie name woven into the strands, she’d wondered if the next clue to the jewels’ whereabouts would be as simple to find here.

  “Have ye ever seen any piece of Sinclair history here? A carving? Or maybe a circle with four smaller circles inside of it?”

  “Nay, ye’re the only Sinclair I’ve heard of! Did ye ask Lady Jean?”

  She hid her wince. Nay, she hadn’t revealed her quest to her aunt-by-marriage, anymore than she would explain her true purpose to the seven-year-old. She’d sworn not to share the purpose behind their hunt, and although it’d be easier with allies who knew the keep, she was sworn to secrecy.

  Still, she had to answer the boy. “Why should I ask her?” she teased, “when I happen to be walking with the keep’s best guide. Have ye noticed anything like that in yer explorations of the secret passages?”

  It was almost sweet the way the lad’s cheeks flushed guiltily. When he pulled his hand from hers, she knew he was nervous.

  “I donae—I mean, the passages arenae…”

  When he trailed off, she smiled and ruffled his hair. “As long as ye’re careful in them, Callan, ye have every right to explore yer home. Ye’ll be laird someday, ye ken.”

  He brightened at that, and nodded happily. “Ye’re right! I’m practically laird now, Edward says. Although he only says that when I’ve done something foolhardy.”

  “Ye? Doing something foolhardy?” she asked incredulously, laughing. “I donae believe it!”

  “Oh, aye!” he said with enthusiasm as he reached for her hand once more and began to swing it. “One time…”

  Soon, she was laughing as hard as he was, as impressed by the schemes he’d come up with to torment his tutors as she’d been by his thought-provoking questions about alchemy. She was thrilled to have this discussion with him.

  Truthfully, she was thrilled to have any discussion with him, much less one which revealed his intelligence and thoughtfulness. But as they approached the keep, Agata had to admit the truth, as much as she adored spending time with Callan, part of her had used the lad as a distraction. On this day, the first day of her new marriage, she should’ve been with her husband. But the idea of seeing him after what they’d shared last night, had made her too nervous.

  Sitting on the dais yesterday during the wedding feast had reminded her of meals beside David. Her husband—her first husband—didn’t speak to her either. But Jaimie had spoken to no one, and no one had spoken to him. Agata had spent most of the meal trying to think of a way to draw him into the lively discussions around him.

  It hadn’t worked, but at least it had distracted her from thinking about what was to come.

  Yesterday evening, when he’d come to her room, she’d seen hunger in his eyes. A hunger she’d never seen from David, although Jaimie apparently had no intention of acting on it. He’d approached her as cold as his elder brother ever had, but his demand had taken her aback.

  She was no blushing virgin. Her beddings by David had been as dispassionate and planned as everything in his life. He’d come to her room, gesture to her to hoist up her gown, enter her, and be done in minutes. She’d never forget that feeling of emptiness, when he’d adjust his clothes once more and leave her, spread and seeping, on the bed.

  Nay, she was no virgin. But she knew there must be more to bedsport than what David had taught her. And when Jaimie had demanded she lie on her stomach, she’d thought he would teach her what she longed to know.

  Until she’d seen the look in his eyes. Although the scarring on his face pulled his expression, his eyes were more haunted than any she’d ever seen. In that moment, she’d realized he’d made that demand of her, not because he was planning some passionate encounter, but so he wouldn’t have to look at her.

  Or she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  She’d made her decision to defy him then, to prove she was no longer the same woman who’d been married to David. She was stronger now, surer of herself. And she’d be strong enough for Jaimie, too.

  Their mating had been like her other experiences, except for a moment at the beginning. Jaimie had cared enough to ensure she was slick before he entered her. David had never bothered, and her body had quickly become used to accommodating his. But when Jaimie had licked his finger and pressed it into her, the brush against Agata’s already sensitive slit had sent her nearly off the bed. The sensation alone was new and exciting, but so was the knowledge he’d cared.

  And then, when he’d found his release…

  Agata swallowed, remembering the way her heart had pounded in her throat as she’d watched him looming over her, working in her. David had never met her eyes while he’d taken her, and his release was as restrained as he was. But Jaimie… Jaimie had shouted. He’d lost his control as he spilled his seed, and in that moment, Agata had never felt so powerful.

  She wanted—needed—to touch him. To hold him, to be held. So, when he’d wrenched away from her like that, as if she’d burned him, her heart had sunk into her stomach. Remembering the lonely evenings after David had finished with her, Agata had spent her first night back as Lady Mackenzie curled on her side in her bed, praying for a baby to love.

  Her reaction to Jaimie continued to disturb her.

  She had Callan. She didn’t need her new husband’s affections, and certainly didn’t need to help the man. So why did his pain cut her so deeply?

  Beside her, Callan made a little noise of confusion. Her attention snapped to him, then in the direction he was gazing.

  “What is it?” she prompted him.

  “I’ve just…” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen him outside.”

  Never seen—? What is he talking about—

  Oh.

  There was a figure seated on a boulder just outside the village. His plaid was crooked and his elbows were braced on his knees. His head was in his palms, his hair falling in a curtain, and as they approached, Agata knew this was her husband.

  He never ventured beyond the castle walls? Or had Callan meant exactly what he’d said, that Jaimie wasn’t seen outside?

  When they were nigh upon him, Callan called out, “Milord? Are ye well?”

  Like lightening, the man thrust himself to his feet and tried to hide his wince. Did his head hurt? Or was it the sunlight?

  But he was in no mood to be polite, apparently. “What are ye doing out here?”

  Callan flinched. “We—we used to go for walks together, me an�
�� Lady Agata.”

  How dare he make the boy feel guilty for taking his pleasure. Agata squeezed his hand and straightened her shoulders, determined in this newfound courage she’d found.

  “If ye would snap at anyone, milord, blame me. I’ve missed Callan, and sought a few moments of peace with him. I lost track of time, and I apologize.”

  His blue eyes had gone to hers as she’d started to speak, but then quickly focused over her shoulder. Why? Did he not want to meet her gaze?

  “Ye have half the keep looking for ye,” he muttered.

  “Jean kenned where we were,” she shot back. “Did anyone think to ask her, milord?”

  He frowned as his eyes darted back to hers, then away once more. “Enough with the ‘milord,’ both of ye. I have a name.”

  Aye, and she’d noticed he’d flinched last night when she’d used it. “Lord Jaimie—”

  There! He’d flinched again before lifting his palm to cut her off. “Just Jaimie. And ye”—he pointed one stunted finger at the lad—“I’m yer uncle.”

  Callan was obviously confused by the man’s censure. “Aye, milord uncle. Lady Jean says—”

  “God Almighty, lad!” Jaimie threw his hands up in exasperation and turned on one booted heel to face the keep. “Just Uncle will do. And Agata is yer aunt—call her Aunt Agata,” he finished in a mutter.

  Baffled now, Callan turned his worried gaze to her. Agata smiled gently down at him, inordinately pleased to see her new husband apparently had a heart.

  Squeezing his hand, she explained to the boy. “Yer Uncle Jaimie is saying there’s no need to be so formal. Ye used to call me Lady Agata when I was married to yer father, but now that I’m married to yer uncle, I’ve become yer aunt.”

  “But my father said…”

  When the boy trailed off, Agata nodded. “Yer father was… very certain of his way of doing things,” she finished diplomatically. “But yer uncle is in charge now, ’til ye come of age. And I’m here as well.”

  Callan cocked his head as he watched her. “Ye’re different now.”

  She nodded. Aye, she was different. Stronger, she hoped. “Yer father is gone, Callan, so that means I’m able to speak my mind.” She squeezed his hand once more. “We all are. We can do the things we think is best now, aye?”

  When her new husband snorted, she lifted her chin and raised one brow in defiance. His back was still to them, but she wasn’t going to back down.

  “Ye disagree, husband?”

  Her lips twitched at the challenge she heard in her own voice. She’d learned that from Citrine, undoubtably. But last year, she would have never been so brave as to question David this way. As Callan had said, she was different.

  Jaimie didn’t respond, but his hands clenched into fists by his side, so she moved up beside him, pulling the lad with her.

  “Ye think I shouldnae do what I think is best, husband?”

  “I think ye’ll do what ye think is best nae matter what,” he growled, not looking at her. “I think ye expect to lead me around on a leash.” A flicker of anger showed as he glanced at her, then away. “Like a hound bitch.”

  The memory of last night made her cheeks heat, but she wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or mocking her. Either way, her chin went up even further. “’Tis my duty as Lady Mackenzie to use my influence to the betterment of my clan and my family. That means doing what I can to ensure the right decisions are made.”

  “About what?”

  “About ye.”

  She wasn’t sure where that response had come from, but when he turned an incredulous expression her way, she didn’t allow herself to hesitate or back down. She’d changed, and wouldn’t be intimidated now.

  Even if his smoldering glare was intimidating. At least it wasn’t David’s iciness.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he growled.

  She opened her mouth to respond, then reconsidered. If she answered, it would prove she’d considered this already, and that would be a poor confession to begin her marriage with. Pressing her lips together, she considered how to reply.

  Callan beat her to it. “Ye drink too much.”

  Both adults turned surprised gazes to the boy, who flushed, but straightened his shoulders and tightened his hold on Agata’s hand.

  “’Tis true,” he said with a nod. “Lady—I mean, Aunt Jean thinks so, too. Ye drink too much.”

  Jaimie narrowed his eyes at the lad, then lifted his frowning expression to Agata. She didn’t want to hurt him further, but she had to support Callan in this. She nodded firmly.

  “’Tis true,” she said gently. “I’ve kenned ye a short time, but yer reliance on the drink—”

  “I donae rely on it,” he snapped.

  “Prove it,” she snapped right back.

  He blinked in surprise. “Prove it?” he repeated. “How?”

  He was asking her advice! Oh, he might not realize that’s what he was doing, but Agata leaped at the chance to help him. Schooling her features carefully, she made sure no pity entered her tone as she explained.

  “Some men who’ve gone through much in their lives, turn to ale or spirits to drown—” their pain. But she wasn’t sure if Jaimie would admit to his pain. “Their troubles,” she substituted instead. “The more they drink, the more they come to rely on it. One drink isnae enough, then two, then ten. They always thirst for more.”

  She watched his tongue scrape across his lower lip. In a nervous gesture, or had her words made him thirsty? She pressed on, as gently as possible.

  “A man like that, he becomes useless, Jaimie. He only lives for the drink, and everything—his honor, his clan, his responsibilities, his family—are forgotten.”

  He was staring at her now, and her heart ached at the hesitation she saw in his eyes. He was unsure, and she hated she’d been the one to cause that reaction in him. But it was a reaction, and that was better than nothing.

  “Do ye…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do ye ken any men like that?”

  I’m looking at one right now. But she wasn’t certain Jaimie was that far gone. So, she just dropped her chin in a small nod.

  “Aye. But I ken it can be fought, as well.”

  This time the question came from Callan. “How?”

  Agata didn’t dare glance down at him. She didn’t dare drop Jaimie’s gaze, for fear she’d lose the ground she’d gained with him.

  “With determination,” she answered the lad softly, but speaking to Jaimie. “It requires the man to want to fight it. Nae matter how hard his family and friends want him back, he has to want to get better. To defy the drink.”

  Jaimie stood there in the warm summer sun, his lithe and sunken frame attesting to how he’d ignored so much of life in recent years. Why? What had caused this decline? David had always spoken of his younger brother as a diplomat and courtier, but hadn’t mentioned this dependence and desperation. Therefore, it was easy to surmise Jaimie hadn’t always been like this.

  He seemed to be considering her words as he studied her. When he hesitated, then swallowed, he seemed so lost. But he stared at her with… with hope.

  And that’s when she knew she would do anything to help this husband of hers.

  “How does… how would a man fight the drink?” he rasped.

  “With support from his friends and family,” she immediately answered, praying he was willing to fight. “It takes days to sweat it out of his body, and even longer still to overcome its hold on his mind. He must find something to replace it in his heart.”

  His tongue dragged across his lower lip again as she described the ordeal. But he seemed to be considering her words. “Like what?”

  For the first time, she allowed herself a smile. Not a proud one, but a small, soft smile. For him.

  “Like his new wife, mayhap,” she offered gently.

  He reared back, shaking his head. In shock? In denial? With her heart pounding, Agata held her breath as tightly as she held Callan’s hand.

 
Merciful Mother of Christ, help him see reason. Help him find the strength.

  Jaimie was breathing hard when he met her eyes, and shook his head once more.

  She held his gaze, allowed him to see her compassion and determination, and nodded.

  Callan chose that moment to pull away from her, maybe not understanding the decision his uncle faced. With a cry of welcome, he ran toward a group of lads heading toward the loch, and dimly, Agata thought to remind him of his manners.

  But the damage had been done. When she turned back from his distraction, Jaimie’s gaze was hooded once more. He now looked wary, rather than desperate or hopeful.

  She swallowed down her disappointment. “He loves ye, ye ken,” she offered. “’Tis obvious by his worry.”

  Jaimie scoffed and turned away. “He’s his father’s son,” he bit out as his long legs ate up the distance to the keep.

  She hurried to catch up, determined not to be left behind. “And his mother’s,” she reminded him.

  He snorted and shook his head so wildly his hair flew around his face. “’Tis no compliment, that.”

  She’d never met David’s first wife, but stories from Jean and the seneschal hadn’t painted the woman well. So she shrugged.

  “Mayhap. But ye’re his family now. And so am I.” She was panting to keep up. “And I think a lad like him needs to ken ’tis fine to show his emotions like that, aye?”

  With that, she reached over and touched Jaimie’s arm, the same way she had yesterday in the chapel. And just like yesterday, he flinched away… but at least he halted.

  When she moved to stand in front of him, she saw the way he dropped his gaze to her hands. Last night he’d said he didn’t like to be touched, but that had to be a lie. The way he’d responded to his climax told her he wasn’t as restrained as he pretended to be.

  “Is that no’ right, Jaimie,” she prompted softly. “’Tis important for a child to ken it’s acceptable to feel. To be loud and talented and love as hard as possible.” Not like David would’ve raised him.

  Jaimie blew out a breath and dropped his head back to stare at the top-most tower of the keep. She wondered what he saw there. At long last, he closed his eyes on a muttered, “Aye. ’Tis best for Callan.”