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

  The same sound, a moment later, made her bolt upright. Surely it was just her tangled nerves? Surely they weren’t in any danger?

  In the dim light from the embers, she searched out the Hound, knowing he would set her mind at ease. But he wasn’t relaxed. Already, he was crouched, his back to the tree’s trunk, his hand on his sword handle.

  Pearl saw the gleam of metal which meant the sword was already half-drawn, and knew whatever was out there, the Hound considered it a real threat.

  Neither of them moved for a long moment, and Pearl realized she was holding her breath. It wasn’t until he stood up, that she remembered to breathe again. When he stalked past her on his way to the darkness outside their camp, he gestured downward with his palm, telling her to lie back down.

  To sleep?

  She sniffed quietly, but followed his command and laid her head back down. But as her gaze followed him out into the dark, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to sleep.

  She was right.

  Chapter Four

  She certainly liked to talk, didn’t she?

  Gregor was a warrior. He’d trained for many years and was used to having to go without sleep. Their first night away from the keep, he’d never been able to discover what had made the noises beyond their camp, but that hadn’t stopped him from sitting watch all night. And if anything, it kept him more watchful on the road south.

  And because of that alertness, he was always aware of Pearl and what she was doing.

  Or saying.

  The second day, Pearl didn’t seem to stop chattering. She talked to William, she talked to Fergus, she talked to dim Mungo, who probably didn’t understand half of what she said. She even talked to herself.

  And, God love her, she talked to him.

  “Summer is my favorite time of year, but spring is just so lovely. Even here, although ’tisnae home, the colors are beautiful, aye?” She didn’t wait for an answer, which was good, because he did little besides nod. “The sky reminds me of Saffy’s eyes. So blue! The twins were born in the spring, ye ken, and our mother named Saffy for her eye color, the same as the Sinclair jewels.” Her laughter was a little frantic, as if she were purposefully chattering. “No’ us, of course, but the real Sinclair jewels, the ones which’ve been missing for so many years.”

  When she turned to him expectantly, he raised a brow in her direction, not sure if he was inviting her to continue or to ask what the hell she was thinking, trying to engage him in conversation.

  She took it as an invitation.

  “I’m sure ye’ve heard the story. Generations ago, a Sinclair laird had the stones fashioned into a massive brooch, which was worn as a symbol of power. But then it vanished, an’ no one kens what happened to it. Our old nurse told us if the jewels are lost forever, our line is doomed.” She paused, exhaling noisily as she gazed at a distant loch. “Only the bravest Sinclair warrior will be able to find them again and save our clan.”

  Gregor knew the story, and he knew he shouldn’t allow her to sully herself, babbling away at someone like him, but he couldn’t force himself to ride ahead, to leave her. Not because he was particularly afraid for her safety, but because he liked being near her. He liked hearing every little thought which popped into her head, liked her insights and observations.

  And aye, he liked the way she kept trying to include him, even while she didn’t push him for more than she thought he could give. Her questions were able to be answered with nods or shakes of his head, and what’s more, she had the uncanny ability to guess what he was thinking.

  Like the afternoon of the second day, when she’d been singing softly to her horse—as if the animal cared one way or another—and Gregor had heard a rustling in the brush ahead.

  Memories of the night before focused his attention on the possible threat, knowing it could be anything from a small animal to a vicious wild boar to an entire band of cutthroat bandits.

  With her still chattering beside him, he held up his fist, a sign to the men.

  And she immediately fell silent and moved behind him without him having to tell her to. She’d known exactly what he wanted.

  When the noise ceased, Gregor had gestured for William to search for tracks, in the hopes of having fresh meat for dinner.

  With the danger past, Pearl began to speak again, but not to her horse. No, instead, she seemed to think it necessary to share her thoughts on what the animal might’ve been.

  And for a man who lived in silence, he was surprised how comforting the sound of her voice was.

  “I hope it was rabbit. I’m partial to rabbit, which is odd, because Agata doesnae eat it. She once became ill after eating a roast, and since, has avoided the meat. But I like the flavor, especially wi’ onions. Do ye think we’ll be able to find some onions, or mayhap Mungo has some in that pouch of his?” She paused for breath, then hummed. “I’m hungry already!”

  She sounded…nervous. The way she was speaking, the way she’d been speaking to young William all morning, that wasn’t normal for her. She was usually full of life and excitement, but this was something else.

  He glanced her way, wondering if she was only speaking to occupy her mind.

  “What?” She frowned at him. “Are ye no’ looking forward to fresh meat?”

  One of his eyebrows twitched in question.

  She sighed. “Aye, I ken. Ye’re hoping William’s as good a shot as he claims, so we can have rabbit. Aye?”

  His attention half on the brush around them, he inclined his chin slightly in agreement.

  “But ’tisnae why ye glared at me so, was it? Ye think I’m being too loud, too chattery. I’m annoying ye.”

  His brows dipped in. As if she could possibly annoy him.

  She seemed to understand. “Truly? Ye donae find me irritating? Ye donae mind me prattling on beside ye?”

  This time he turned in the saddle, enough to give her his full attention. He noted the way she sucked in a breath, but dismissed it as him having startled her. Once he knew she was focused on him, he shook his head.

  No, I donae mind ye prattling on beside me.

  “Truly?” she whispered, as if not sure. “Ye’re not tired of listening to my voice?”

  Never.

  He shook his head again.

  When her smile bloomed, sudden and full, it felt as if the sun had once again come to the Highlands. Gregor inhaled deeply, thankful for the gift of her smile. He knew he’d remember the sight of her—honey-gold hair in a simple braid down her back, her silver eyes bright as her face lit with joy from within.

  One corner of his lips raised as well, an unbidden response to her happiness.

  Even more surprising, she burst into laughter. It wasn’t the frantic sort of laughter he’d heard from her since they’d left home, as if she was trying desperately to remind herself what joy sounded like. No, this was genuine.

  “I am sorry!” she managed to gasp, still grinning hugely. “I’ve never seen ye smile before! Although to call that lip-twitch a smile seems unfair.” She settled back into her saddle, seeming more at ease than she’d been earlier. “’Tis nice to ken ye’re not made of stone.”

  Far from it, lady.

  Although a part of him was nearly rock hard because of her nearness.

  Yesterday, he’d made the mistake of touching her, of lifting her into her saddle. Although she’d been crying at the time, the feel of her in his arms had shaken him.

  He was no monk. He was a thief and a villain, but no monk. He gave as much pleasure as he took when he laid with a woman, and made sure to leave her happier than she’d been before. Sometimes that meant gentle touches and soft sighs. Sometimes that meant a few coins and an extra haunch of meat when the hunters returned.

  He was no stranger to women, despite not deserving any kind of joy in his life. And he’d known what his body’s reaction to Lady Pearl’s touch had meant.

  It was lust.

  No, it was more than lust. It was…need. Yearning. Desperation for s
omething he couldn’t have and never should want.

  He knew who he was; the lowest of her father’s servants. He was nothing, and had no right to touch her, much less feel such an intense desire for her.

  Still, telling his body that, and actually managing to stay away from her, were two different issues. He told himself he was helping distract her by allowing her to talk to him. And if he abruptly left her with the others, as he should, she’d be hurt and confused.

  It was his duty to the Sinclair to make sure his youngest daughter wasn’t mourning the past and fretting the future. It was his duty to ride beside her, listening to her chatter and seeing her smiles.

  Yes. Duty.

  That must’ve been why he allowed her to help him prepare dinner the second night, when he should’ve insisted she rest on the fallen log beside the stream. No, he was thinking about her well-being, and how she’d probably welcome the chance to stay busy and talk.

  Besides, William had downed the rabbit after all.

  While Fergus patrolled the area and Mungo hunted for hawthorn berries, Gregor squatted beside the stream to clean their fresh meat. The task reminded him of his childhood, when one of Mam’s customers would leave a hunk of venison or string of fish in payment. Although young Gregor had been skilled in his small skiff, the fishermen who went out farther in the loch could bring back bigger catches, and afford to pay Mam. While she’d taken the man into the back room, Gregor had quickly and skillfully skinned and readied the meat for their evening meal.

  Of course, that had been in between his father’s visits.

  “Can I help?”

  Pearl’s sudden appearance at his side—had he really been so focused on his work he hadn’t heard her?—startled him enough to jerk his head in a nod. When she settled beside him, her feet tucked up under her skirts, he pulled another knife from his boot and handed it to her.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from her—his intent had been to distract her. But he’d forgotten how capable she was. This particular lady wasn’t one to sit by prettily when there was work to be done. He’d been loyal to Sinclair long enough to know she was a favorite in the village and farms because of her willingness to work, to get dirty.

  The knife—the blade the same color as her eyes—flashed in the evening light as she chopped the wild onions and brushed them from the rock into the pan. Mungo would fry them up, and she’d get her wished-for meal.

  “Ye are verra capable with a knife.”

  Her comment was teasing, but Gregor wondered if there was more to it than that. He stared down at his knuckles where they wrapped around the hilt of the larger blade. He’d left his sword beside the fire, but he was never without this knife.

  Not since Duncan Sinclair had handed it to him with a slight smile and said, “If ye’d had this on yer belt, ye wouldnae be half-dead.”

  It had been the first time a man had trusted him, and Gregor was still trying to repay that trust.

  He glanced up at the man’s daughter. Her smile was so much like her father’s, it made Gregor’s gut clench. She was a Sinclair Jewel. Not made for kneeling in the mud chopping onions with the likes of him.

  As before, she understood him without him having to speak. She rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue.

  “What? Ye expected me to sit and bemoan my poor self, when there was work to be done?”

  Apparently forgetting she was still holding a knife, she waved her hand dismissively, and Gregor ducked instinctively.

  “I’m no’ a shy lass! I can help, and ye’d be a fool not to accept that help.”

  Gently, he wrapped his hand around her wrist and plucked the knife from her fingers with the other. Her breath caught at his touch, and he did his best to control his body’s reaction to her.

  Lust, naught more.

  A cold dunk in the stream was sounding better and better.

  He stabbed the blade into the log beside him, reminding himself to clean it when he cleaned his own, and released her. She was breathing deeply, and he forced himself not to stare at her chest, although it was hard. The dark blue traveling gown she wore was modest, but clung to her in all the right ways.

  He sighed and shoved the pan with the onions and chopped meat into her hands.

  It wasn’t until he met her gaze and saw her pleasure that he realized he was still in trouble.

  “Thank ye for trusting me,” she said softly. Struggling to her feet, keeping the pan steady, she smiled down at him. “I’ll leave ye to yer work.” The entrails and skin needed to be disposed of. “I’ll call ye when Mungo says the food is ready.”

  That night, he made sure to sleep on the opposite side of the fire from her, but it didn’t seem to help. His cock still pressed, thick and hard, against his thigh, and his mind couldn’t seem to relax.

  He had to admit it to himself then… This wasn’t lust. It wasn’t just Pearl’s body, her innocence, her smile. It was her kind heart and the way she understood what he was thinking, and then answered for him. It was the way she always cared for everyone, and the way she threw herself into each task. The way the fire caught the gold in her hair, and the way his palms itched to touch her again.

  This wasn’t lust. This was worse.

  Because he wasn’t worthy of her smiles, touch, joy, or caring.

  The third day of travel, he forced himself to maintain distance from her. He didn’t miss the disappointed look she sent him the first time he refused to acknowledge her gentle advances, and told himself it was for the best.

  Her honor was more important than her feelings. There were three other men watching them, watching her, waiting to report that she’d behaved properly on her way to the nunnery. Besides, she was to take holy vows. No matter how alluring, how refreshing she was, she wasn’t to belong to a man.

  Not a husband her father chose, and certainly not to someone like the Sinclair Hound.

  The knowledge that her skin, which caused such a strange reaction in him, would never be caressed, and those lips, which he practically ached to taste, would never be kissed, near drove him to madness.

  So, aye, the third day of travel southward was difficult. The fourth even more so. They spent the night at an Inverness inn at William’s suggestion so she could sleep on a real cot. Gregor spent the night stretched in front of her door, as a hound should.

  As they moved southward into MacDonell territory, Lady Pearl became more and more withdrawn. Not even William’s jokes could pull a smile out of her. She sat hunched in her saddle, staring down at her hands. Gregor did his best to ignore the hurt glances she sent his way.

  ’Tis for the best.

  The mood hadn’t improved any by midafternoon. When he gestured to halt, she slumped over, and Fergus was quick to help her down. As the oldest among them, he carried the Sinclair’s missive to the abbey, and had positioned himself at Pearl’s side once Gregor had made it clear he was avoiding her.

  When she walked in circles around the horses, she did her best to muffle any complaints about her soreness, but he saw the way she bit her lower lip to keep the pained moans from escaping.

  He’d pushed her too hard, but it was necessary. Soon, they’d be at the abbey, and she could get on with making peace with her future. And he’d go back to Sinclair land, and make peace with his memories.

  And in the coming years of service, Gregor knew his silent, shameful dreams would be of Pearl smiling at him. And when he’d take himself in hand, it’d be her lips he imagined, her skin he pictured.

  It would be enough.

  And he’d never let anyone know he dreamed of her.

  While the other men stretched their legs or relieved themselves, Gregor sat atop his horse, trying to force his mind to the present. The Sinclair had given him a great honor in entrusting this mission to him, and he needed his mind on the task, not a woman’s alluring curves…

  Besides, there was something…else tickling his awareness. The feeling which just brushed against his skin. The feeling of eyes on
him. A hint of a scent in the air…

  Another man might’ve brushed off the unease, attributing it to his distraction by Pearl. But another man wasn’t as honor-bound as Gregor. And didn’t have his past.

  Years spent living among lawless men, of stealing to survive, and worse, made Gregor more attuned to the danger bandits posed. They were four strong warriors, and although Pearl was a woman, she wore none of the trappings of a lady. There was naught to mark their group as easy pickings, or worth the risk, yet Gregor didn’t ignore his instincts.

  It might be naught, or it might be a real danger.

  He whistled to the men, and when he had their attention, pointed to his eyes, then tightened his hand into a fist at shoulder level.

  The men recognized the gesture and immediately moved to their horses, alert and prepared. William swung into his saddle, his bow ready. Fergus and Mungo fingered the hilts of their swords.

  And Pearl seemed oblivious, thank God.

  When they moved out again, each man scanned the trees and rocks, alert for danger. It was an exhausting way to travel, but it’s how they should’ve been the whole time. Gregor’s gut shouldn’t be the only thing keeping them safe, and he reminded himself to point that out to them…after Pearl was safely delivered.

  Only a few more days now.

  The afternoon wore on, and it was easy to see the men’s vigilance fading. William made a few more jokes, and Mungo’s eyes glazed over with boredom. Gregor didn’t get the strange feeling in his gut again. Mayhap, whoever it was, had left them alone. Or, their small group had outpaced the danger. Or mayhap it was all in his head in the first place.

  He frowned at the thought, wondering if his instincts had really been that muddled by a pair of silver-gray eyes.

  Still, even if this danger was past, they couldn’t afford to let down their guard. He needed to keep his attention on their surroundings, where it belonged, so he could justify Duncan Sinclair’s trust in him. He owed it to the man to protect his daughter, so Gregor scanned the path ahead and to their sides.

  Which is why, when the attack came, they weren’t all killed immediately.