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

  “Oh!” His face lit up with excitement once more. “I forgot to tell ye! I found another one!” He took a deep breath. “I havenae gone in, because I thought we could explore it together.”

  “Found what, Callan?”

  He bounced again. “Another passageway! We’ve explored all the ones I kenned about, aye? But since this is a new one to me—to us—the clue might be there!”

  She grabbed the boy’s hand in her excitement. “Aye!” She whispered breathlessly. “The jewels! We might—”

  “What’s this?” Jaimie growled, sitting up.

  The sheet fell around his waist, and Agata was distracted by the sight of his chest. Just as last night, her fingers itched to touch all that skin, to see if the small dark hairs which peppered it were as soft as they looked. She wanted to press her palm against his heart and feel it beating, and her throat went dry at the thought.

  “Agata?” he prompted her impatiently.

  “The…” She had to lick her lips to continue, and forced her gaze back up to his face. She’d never hated a promise more than at that moment, knowing she had to hide her sisters’ grand hunt from her husband. She couldn’t lie to him! “Callan… has been giving me a tour of the keep’s secret passageways, husband.”

  “They’re secret for a reason, ye ken,” he growled again, turning his glare on the boy. “Ye’re no’ to go in them alone. Some are dangerous. They’re only to be used in an emergency, and if everyone kens about them, they willnae be secret.”

  Callan lifted his chin. “They’re no’ dangerous.”

  “No’ the ones ye’ve been in. But they’re no’ maintained, and the floor is unsteady in some. The boards have given way—well, it doesnae matter.”

  “How do ye ken?”

  Agata tensed at the stubborn challenge in the lad’s voice, wondering how Jaimie would handle it. The way David might have? Or would he shut himself off again?

  He did neither. Instead, her husband sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face, ending with a yawn as he scratched at the sparse beard he’d grown in an attempt to cover his scar.

  “I ken, lad, because I grew up here, remember?”

  Callan’s eyes brightened. “Ye mean ye explored the passageways, too? Do ye ken of any more—”

  “It matters naught, does it? Because ye’ll cease yer explorations at once.”

  His glare was fierce, but when the boy giggled, it was clear Callan had seen through the attempt at discipline.

  “What if I’m with ye? Or with Aunt Agata? Can we explore then?”

  Jaimie just rolled his eyes. “Yer aunt is a smart woman, and I trust her to ken what’s dangerous. And now…”

  When he swung his legs off the bed and stood up, Callan giggled at the sight of his uncle’s naked buttocks. Agata’s eyes went round, and she completely forgot to be flattered by Jaimie’s compliment.

  As the man reached for the drying cloth he’d used the night before, she remembered the heat she’d felt earlier in his arms. Her husband’s lithe form tapered to a fine set of cheeks, and she wouldn’t mind looking at them a bit longer. And was disappointed when he wrapped the cloth around himself and turned with a mock glare as he scratched at his jaw once more.

  “And now, I’m going to shave this mess off, before our ride.”

  He stomped out of the room, and Agata’s gaze followed him. Shave? And he was teasing them? Aye, her husband was feeling much improved, that was obvious.

  And what was even better, she liked who he was becoming.

  “Uncle Jaimie! Watch this!”

  The lad kicked his pony and went tearing off across the meadow, whooping war cries like a real warrior. Jaimie found himself holding his breath as Callan’s animal cleared a small stream, and he had to admit the lad rode well.

  Beside him, his wife chuckled, a surprisingly sensual sound. “He’s been so proud of himself. I’m glad ye could see him.”

  Jaimie’s fist tightened around the reins. When was the last time he’d gone riding? Since returning to Mackenzie lands, surely, but he couldn’t remember a specific time.

  The drink had done that to him. Even now, he thirsted, but forced his attention away from the niggling need and focused on the woman beside him.

  “He’s has reason to be proud. He rides like a Mackenzie, and deserves a real mount soon.”

  “Oh, aye.” She flashed him a smile. “But ye’ll be hard-pressed to woo him away from Thunder. That’s what he calls the pony.”

  Thunder. A fanciful name for the wee beast. Jaimie found himself smiling as he clucked his own horse into motion.

  As the two of them rode along the valley, he kept an eye on his nephew in the distance. The lad had turned his pony around and was picking his way back at a more leisurely pace. That allowed Jaimie some privacy…

  He glanced at Agata to see her frowning down at her horse’s right leg. What was wrong?

  “Agata?”

  When she looked up, her smile flashed brightly, and he assumed that meant the horse was fine.

  “Aye, Jaimie?”

  The way she smiled like that, the way she said his name… it made Jaimie forget himself for a moment. He wanted it to be real so badly, but with every breath he took, he expected reality to come crashing back and remind him he couldn’t call such a beautiful, strong woman his.

  He cleared his throat. “The jewels?”

  Her brows dipped in. “What about us?”

  Us? Oh, aye. He remembered Aunt Jean explaining that the Sinclair’s four daughters were known as the Sinclair Jewels. Agata herself had been named for the agate found along the rocky beaches. Is that what she’d meant…?

  “This morning, Callan said the two of ye would explore the secret passageways for clues to ‘the jewels’—donae deny it.”

  “Deny it?” Agata pulled her horse to a stop and shook her head. “Why would I deny it?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she swung down from the saddle, and Jaimie was momentarily distracted by the sight of a shapely calf before her skirts settled back around her boots. She murmured to the horse as she ducked under his neck and picked up its foreleg.

  “Because those passageways—what are ye doing?”

  “There’s a hitch in his gait. I donae think he’s injured, but—”

  In an instant, he’d swung down and was bent beside her. Jaimie hummed in agreement as they examined the hoof together. “Mayhap a bruise? Best to walk him.”

  He reached for the animal’s reins and turned both horses toward the distant keep. She could ride with Callan or… Jaimie swallowed suddenly. Or with him.

  Before he could broach the subject of the jewels and clues and passageways again, Callan raced up on Thunder, kicking up pebbles as he reined the pony to a halt and jumped down.

  “Did ye see me, Uncle Jaimie? Did ye see us take that creek? Are we walking now? Why are we walking? Aunt Agata, did ye see how fast we were going?”

  She seemed used to the boy’s energy, because she just nodded serenely. “Ye were fast as lightening, Callan.”

  “That’s why his name’s Thunder, ye ken. Why are ye standing around?”

  “My horse is limping, and I donae want to lame him. Yer uncle and I were waiting for ye.”

  “Uncle Jaimie!” Wide-eyed, the boy turned back to him. “Did ye see us jump?”

  Feeling a little frantic at being the center of attention, Jaimie did his best to follow Agata’s example. “A—aye. Ye’ll be a braw hunter one day.”

  “I ken!” the boy gasped. “Ye should’ve seen it, Uncle!” He scrambled up on a boulder and took imaginary aim down an arrow shaft. “Thunder nigh squashed a pair of rabbits! They took off running like their tails were afire! If I’d had my bow—!” He let loose the imaginary arrow with a satisfied “Thwack!”

  Agata gave an exaggerated shudder. “I dislike rabbit. Could ye hunt down a sheep for me? I prefer mutton.”

  “Mutton?” the boy groaned. He rolled his eyes toward his uncle in camaraderie. “Hunting m
utton! Uncle, ye need to take me out hunting for stag. That’ll show her what a real man can do, aye?”

  Even as Callan slapped his chest with an open palm, Jaimie hid his wince. A real man? The lad hadn’t meant insult, but…

  “Sorry, nephew.” Unbidden, Jaimie’s ruined hand curled into a fist by his thigh. “I cannot hunt anymore.”

  The boy froze and cocked his head, studying Jaimie. “Why no’?”

  Resisting the urge to glance at Agata, to see the pity in her eyes, Jaimie swallowed and lifted his right hand. He tucked the reins against his palm with his thumb, and held up his stunted fingers.

  “I cannae draw a bowstring.”

  To his surprise, the boy flicked his own fingers dismissively and rolled his eyes. “Yer fingers still bend. Ye can draw a bow,” he said matter-of-factly as he slid down the boulder. “If ye can wield a sword, ye can draw a bow.”

  Jaimie wanted to snap at the boy, to ask him when he’d become an expert. But at the same time, he hesitated. Could he wield a bow anymore? The same as riding a horse, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried.

  Callan had sensed his hesitation, because the boy approached with a solemn nod. “If ye need help, Uncle, I’d be happy to practice with ye.”

  Beside him, Agata made a noise which might have been a sniff of laughter, but Jaimie didn’t dare turn to confirm it. Instead, he raised his brow at his nephew.

  “And ye think I can just re-grow fingers?”

  “Nay, but I ken ye can do anything ye put yer mind to. That’s what Aunt Agata taught me.”

  This time, Jaimie’s gaze slid to her, but her wide brown eyes were innocent.

  “Ye did call me a smart woman just this morning, husband.”

  He had, hadn’t he?

  Callan clasped his hands behind his back and strolled back toward his pony, giving a good impression of old Edward, the seneschal. “Aunt Agata taught me to paint when I was just a wee lad, ye ken.”

  “Ye’re still a wee lad,” Jaimie growled.

  The boy whirled to glare at his uncle. “Wee’r than I am now.” He frowned as he composed himself, while Jaimie tried not to chuckle. “But if she could teach me to paint when I was just…”

  He began to count on his fingers, obviously trying to remember how old he’d been when David had married Agata.

  “Five,” Jaimie helpfully supplied.

  “Almost six!” Callan corrected, then shrugged. “If I could learn to paint then, ye can learn, too.”

  Where the hell had this conversation gotten to? “Learn to paint?” Jaimie asked in confusion.

  “Aye!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why would I want to learn to paint?”

  “Because,” Agata jumped in with a quiet surety, “’tis an excellent way to show yer nephew ye see value in the things he values.”

  Jaimie’s mouth snapped shut.

  She was right. He’d gone through hell for the last few weeks just to ensure Callan would be raised by a man who understood him, and believed he should be allowed to express himself. Showing an interest in something like painting, which Callan valued, would prove to the boy his talents were appreciated.

  And he could spend time with his intriguing wife, as well.

  Unbidden, his gaze dropped to his hand. Could he learn to paint? Could he do half the things he’d thought part of his past?

  And if he could, did that still make him the failure he’d long thought?

  Her hand closed around his, and he felt that now-familiar warmth spread up his arm, especially when he met her eyes and saw her smile.

  “I’d be happy to teach ye, husband,” she said quietly.

  Without waiting for his response, Callan whooped with joy and threw himself atop his pony. “Ye’ll be mixing paints in no time, Uncle!” he yelled in encouragement, just before he jabbed his heels into the animal’s sides and they set off like a shot toward home.

  Jaimie couldn’t help the way his lips twitched at the boy’s enthusiasm. When he glanced at Agata, he discovered she was gazing at him with pride.

  Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away and nodded toward her horse. “We had better start back as well, and have the stablemaster look at his hoof.”

  She glanced toward the horse, and he took the opportunity to step closer and close his hands around her middle. It was somehow easier to manage without her staring so intently at him, but he lifted her into his saddle with only a slight pull at long-unused muscles. And he could admit he liked the way she gasped in surprise and clamped down on his shoulders.

  Still, he hid his grin as he swung up into the saddle behind her, and settled her atop his thighs. Pretending nonchalance he didn’t quite feel, he nudged his horse into a walk and tugged at her animal’s reins until he was content the mare would follow.

  She said nothing, but sat stiffly in his lap. Jaimie found himself praying he hadn’t overstepped, hadn’t angered her. Since they’d woken this morning, he’d wanted to have her in his arms again, and a lame horse was as good an excuse as he could hope for. But now that she was here, did she think he’d gone too far? Was she disgusted at the thought of being held by a man like him?

  Yer treasure’s in the south-land. Aunt Jean had said that whenever Jaimie had gone off adventuring, and even in the months since he’d returned. But more and more, he was beginning to suspect his aunt was wrong.

  His treasure was right here, sitting on his lap.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he watched the tension in her shoulders ease, watched her take a breath. Slowly, she allowed herself to slump backward, to press her back against his chest. He easily took her weight, glad for the chance to support her for a change.

  She made a contented noise in her throat and tucked her head against his shoulder. He placed the mare’s reins under one of his thighs, and reached around to grasp his own reins with both hands, which meant his arms were once more around his wife.

  Where they belonged.

  Chapter Seven

  By the fourth time Jaimie read through the trading contract, the words were beginning to blur. He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling a proud sort of weariness. Two months ago—a month ago—before his marriage, the words would’ve blurred because everything was blurry, thanks to the drink. But today, it was because he’d written and read the damn thing so many times he probably had it memorized.

  Of course, he still needed a drink.

  With another sigh, he reached for the tankard Edward kept full of cool water, and although it wasn’t exactly what he was craving, it eased his thirst. He plunked it back down atop the carved map which stood in the center of the desk.

  “Is everything acceptable, milord?” the seneschal asked from his chair on the other side of the desk.

  Jaimie nodded wearily at the old man. They’d begun to work like this recently, each focused on their own tasks, but near enough that Edward could answer any questions he had. And it was embarrassing to admit he did have questions.

  Apparently in the last few years, the seneschal had been the only one standing between the Mackenzies and ruin. While Jaimie had been drinking himself into oblivion, and Callan off training and being a child, the old man had done his best to keep the alliances strong and the clan safe and well-fed.

  It was galling to realize not only how useless he’d been, but how much he owed his seneschal.

  “Aye, Edward. We’ll send the wool down to Inverness, then from there to Leith and eventually France. Ye’re right about the prices we’ll get, but we’ll have to bear the cost of the trip in mind.”

  And damn if the old man didn’t look proud as he scrambled to get the sealing wax prepared. “Ye’ve made the right decision, Jaimie,” he said fondly.

  Jaimie’s throat was dry when he reached for the little dipper of hot wax, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with ale. Nay, it was emotion which caused him to swallow so thickly. He’d been useless for so long, believing himself to be half a man—a man with no honor, no pu
rpose beyond the next cup of ale.

  But now? Well, now he was still struggling to learn what needed to be done as the Mackenzie regent, but he was proud of what little he’d managed to accomplish in the short amount of time.

  And he realized pride was important.

  When the wax was ready, he pulled his father’s signet ring from his thumb—the only finger which could still hold the thing—and pressed it into the wax. One day he’d tie it on a leather thong and hang it from Callan’s neck until the lad was big enough to wear it the way David had. But for now, Jaimie would do the best he could with it.

  When the door opened, he’d half expected it to be a serving wench with another ewer of water, on behalf of his wife. It seemed Agata and Edward were involved in some kind of conspiracy—with Aunt Jean presiding—to drown him. And as much as he wanted a sip of spirits, he couldn’t be irritated with them.

  Besides, he was coming to learn there were other things a man could crave just as much. Such as the taste of his wife’s lips.

  Which is probably why, when Agata was the one who stepped through the door, his exhaustion fell away in the blink of an eye. All of his senses were focused on her and the way she smiled when she met his eyes.

  His cock jumped to attention under his kilt.

  Still, when he realized her arms were full, he shifted discreetly as he stood and came around the desk to help her.

  Edward cleared his throat and gathered up the scrolls and parchments they’d been working on. There was a twinkle in the old man’s eye when he nodded to both of them. “I’ll ensure the messenger gets this directly, milord. I’ll leave ye two to…” He cleared his throat, nodded again, and hurried out the door.

  No doubt to report straight to Aunt Jean, the old bastard.

  And if Jaimie was being honest, he had to admit that Aunt Jean had been brilliant when she’d made the marriage contract with Duncan Sinclair. Just look what miracles Agata had wrought in a short amount of time!

  As he reached her, Agata’s smile turned grateful and she lifted her elbow to allow him to remove the odd-looking frame she was carrying under her arm. He held the bundle of planks at arm’s length and peered at them thoughtfully.