The Sinner Page 11

  “That’s Edinburgh Castle,” Alex said, following her gaze.

  “Is that where ye are going to meet the regent and your countess?” she asked.

  “She’s no my countess,” Alex said in a clipped tone.

  Still, Glynis wondered what it was about the Frenchwoman that could draw Alex all the way to Edinburgh to see her.

  “The royals find it is too windy and cold up on the rock,” Alex said, nodding toward the castle. “They prefer the comforts of Holyrood Palace, which is behind us at the other end of the city. That’s where I expect to find the regent—and the countess.”

  “Ach, it seems wasteful to have two castles in one city,” she said.

  “I fear being sensible is no requirement for being royal,” Alex said, and gave her arm a squeeze. “But if the English attack, the royals will run up the hill to Edinburgh Castle, for it is an impregnable fortress. Ye don’t want to be held prisoner there.”

  “Is that where they have Donald Dubh MacDonald?” she asked.

  Donald Dubh was the true heir to the Lordship of the Isles. As a child, he was held captive by the Campbells, who were his mother’s family. After he escaped from them, the clans united behind him, and he led a great rebellion.

  “Aye, they’ve kept Donald Dubh imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle since they caught him ten years ago,” Alex said. “If it was possible to get him out, whether by force or trickery, the rebels would have done it long ago.”

  How she would miss talking with Alex and hearing his stories. At night, after they made love, he would tell her tales as enchanting as any bard’s for as long as she wanted. She would fall asleep to the sound of his voice and wake up in his arms. The memory made her eyes sting.

  “What is that horrid smell?” Glynis asked, as she wiped her eye with her sleeve. “It’s so foul it makes my eyes water.”

  “Too many people living close together.” Alex pointed to one of the many narrow passages off the High Street. “The buildings are ten and twelve stories high on these passageways that they call closes. Everyone living on the close empties their waste out their doors or windows, and it all flows downhill to the loch below. The loch has no outlet, so the filth of the city stagnates there.”

  “That’s disgusting,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Not so disgusting for the wealthy who live near the High Street, farthest from the loch.” Alex paused in his explanation as he guided her around a man carrying loaves of steaming bread on his head. “As ye go down the closes, those who are better off live on the upper floors, while the poorer souls live on the lower ones. The poorest of the poor live on the ground floor at the base of the hill next to the loch.”

  “How do they survive it?” she asked.

  “If they are born here, I suppose they are accustomed to it,” he said, “just as we islanders are accustomed to the sound of the sea and the feel of the wind in our faces.”

  “Will ye be in the city long?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “A couple of days. Only as long as it takes to get an audience with the regent.”

  It was fortunate Alex would not be staying. Otherwise, she feared she would behave like all the other women he left wanting more. She’d be weak enough to keep watch for him, hoping to meet him in the most unlikely places. And worse, she’d pray he would miss her and seek her out.

  Foolish thoughts! Even if Alex remained in the city, she could never risk continuing the affair. She had allowed herself this one wild folly before settling into her life as a spinster.

  “Here is St. Giles,” Alex said, as they came to an enormous church on a square.

  Alex had asked after her relatives when he boarded the horses at a tavern near the edge of the city. The tavern keeper told them that her uncle, the priest, was attached to St. Giles and lived close by with his sister.

  Alex flipped a coin to a dirty boy begging across the street from the church. “Where can I find the Hume family?”

  Alex spoke to the lad in Lowland Scots, which Glynis could understand if it was not spoken too quickly. She did not catch half of the lad’s reply, but he pointed down the close behind him.

  “He says it’s the one with the red door, just here,” Alex said.

  Glynis tightened her grip on Alex’s arm as they turned into the narrow close. The buildings rose so high on either side that only a sliver of the sky showed between them.

  “They can’t see the weather coming,” she said, startled by the notion.

  “I suppose they don’t need to know, since they neither farm nor sail,” Alex said.

  They stood in front of the impressive red door. Instead of knocking, Alex turned and took both her hands.

  “Are ye sure ye want to go in?” he asked.

  In truth, she was frightened to death to go inside. But what else could she do after traveling all across Scotland to get here? Crawl home in greater shame than the last time?

  When she managed a stiff nod, something flashed in Alex’s eyes that she couldn’t read. Concern? Regret? Before she could be sure, he dropped her hands and banged on the door.

  * * *

  There was nothing about the house that should make Alex uneasy, and yet he was.

  Clearly, it belonged to a prosperous family, and the serving woman who answered the door was clean and respectful. After Alex stated their business, she led them upstairs to a parlor with costly furniture and tapestries.

  While they waited for the serving woman to announce their presence, Alex watched Glynis. She was pale as death.

  He turned as a plump, middle-aged woman with a pleasant face entered the parlor. Ach, she looked like everyone’s favorite aunt—the sort who always had a smile and a treat in her pocket for a bairn. She halted just inside the doorway, her eyes fixed on Glynis.

  “I did not believe it when Bessie told me,” she said, holding her plump hand against her bosom. “But ye look so much like my baby sister that it’s like seeing her ghost.”

  When the woman crossed the room and embraced Glynis, Alex noted the contrast between the aunt’s short, rounded figure and Glynis’s slender, graceful body. He stifled a sigh as he recalled running his hands over Glynis’s long, naked limbs.

  “I’m your aunt Peg,” the older woman said, as she dabbed at her eyes. “My husband Henry will be overjoyed to meet ye. And I’ll send a lad over to tell your uncle at St. Giles. After all these years, to finally lay eyes on my sister’s child…”

  The woman chatted incessantly, but Alex could see no harm in her.

  “Is this handsome man your husband?” Peg asked, turning to him with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Nay,” Glynis said with unnecessary force. “This is Alexander MacDonald. He… and his large party, which included several women, escorted me here.”

  “So where is your husband then?” Peg asked. “Surely ye are of an age to have one?”

  “I was married,” Glynis said, “but…”

  “Oh, my dear, ye have been widowed,” Peg said, her face all pinched with concern.

  Glynis threw Alex a desperate glance, and he gave her a slight nod to let her know her secret was safe.

  “It seems ye will be well cared for here,” Alex said, and the aunt beamed at him. “With your permission, I’ll leave ye now.”

  He went to stand in front of Glynis and took her hands. Though there was nothing more he could do for her, he felt unsettled leaving her.

  Despite the panic in Glynis’s eyes, she would be fine. She was the most capable and determined woman he’d ever met. This sweet auntie would prove no challenge for a lass who put a blade into one Highland warrior and convinced another to take her across the breadth of Scotland. In a week’s time, Glynis would have this household running like she thought it ought—and the Humes would be the better for it.

  No matter what Glynis believed now, Alex was certain she would end up married again. Any man who wanted a wife would be a fool to pass her by. The next time Alex saw her—if he ever saw her again—she would belon
g to another man.

  “I wish ye happy, Glynis,” he said, squeezing her hands. “Ye deserve it.”

  “You as well,” she said, her voice a bare whisper.

  Since they were not related, it was not proper for him to kiss her cheek. But when had he cared about propriety? He cupped her face and pressed his lips against the soft skin of her cheek for the last time. Despite the foul city air, her hair still smelled of the pine needles they had slept on the night before.

  “I’ll miss sleeping with ye,” he whispered in her ear to make her blush.

  But that was not all he would miss. For the first time in his life, Alex was close to making a fool of himself over a woman.

  He was escaping just in time.

  CHAPTER 18

  After checking on Rosebud and Buttercup, Alex paid for a bed and a bath at the tavern. An hour later, he was on his way to Holyrood Palace. He tried to pry his mind away from Glynis and focus his thoughts on his meeting with the regent. But he felt on edge, as if he had left Glynis in the hands of pirates instead of her sweet aunt.

  Fortunately, Alex was at his best when acting on his instincts. If Connor wanted someone who would plan it all out ahead of time like a chess game, he should have sent Ian or come himself. Alex’s goal was clear: reassure the Crown that his clan did not support the rebellion, while avoiding any specific commitment to fight the rebels.

  As for his personal business, he’d lost interest in Sabine’s gift, whatever it was. Still, it had been foolish to arrive on the very last day of July and risk missing her. He had slowed his pace to spend a couple more nights with Glynis.

  Ach, he hardly knew himself. And now, he felt irritable that Glynis had made no fuss when he left her. What had he expected? That Glynis would weep and beg for him to stay? There was no point in that.

  The guards at the palace gate were MacKenzies, with whom his clan had no current feud, so they let him pass with no difficulty. At the entrance to the palace building, Alex found the Scottish court guarded by Frenchmen. This annoyed him, though he should have expected it. The new regent had spent little time in Scotland and spoke neither Scots nor Gaelic. According to the tavern keeper, the regent had brought a huge entourage with him from France, including jugglers, for God’s sake.

  “Your weapons,” one of the guards said to him in French.

  As Alex unstrapped his claymore, he scanned the crowded hall. Sabine had mentioned in her letter that D’Arcy, a French nobleman Alex had fought with in France, was here with the French contingent. Since both D’Arcy and Sabine knew the regent well, he hoped to get advice from one of them before his audience.

  “Those as well,” the guard said, pointing at the dirks that hung from Alex’s belt.

  Alex removed them, since he had no choice if he wanted to go inside.

  “Your name and your business?” one of the other guards demanded.

  “I am Alexander MacDonald of Sleat.”

  Before he could state his business, the guards began shouting. “Il est un MacDonald!” He is a MacDonald! “Un rebelle!” A rebel!

  In an instant, two dozen guards surrounded him with their swords drawn.

  O shluagh. Alex briefly considered fighting his way out, but killing a few of the regent’s guards inside the royal palace probably would not serve his clan well. Still, a man couldn’t be faulted for throwing a few punches.

  From the guards’ excited shouts as they dragged him up the stairs, Alex gathered that they thought he was Alexander MacDonald of Dunivaig and the Glens, who was one of the rebel chieftains. Apparently they didn’t know that half the warriors in the Western Isles were named Alexander or Donald after former Lords of the Isles.

  Alex suspected he would have his audience with the regent sooner than expected.

  The guards led him through double doors into an elaborately decorated parlor—painted pink, no less. Inside, courtiers and ladies dressed in silks hovered around a man in an ornate chair who had the beard and shrewd blue eyes of a Stewart. So this must be John Stewart, who was the Duke of Albany, the current regent, and third in line to the throne after the two royal babes.

  When the two guards holding Alex’s arms attempted to toss him onto the floor at the regent’s feet, Alex knocked their heads together and let them fall. He glared over his shoulder at the other guards before dropping to his knee.

  “Your Grace,” Alex said in French. “Your men have mistaken me for a rebel leader because the fools don’t know one damned MacDonald clan from another.”

  Albany raised his eyebrows. Whether it was in admiration for his perfect French or because he had called Albany’s guards fools, Alex didn’t much care.

  “And which MacDonald are you?”

  “I am Alexander MacDonald of Sleat,” Alex said. “And if ye don’t mind a bit of advice, I suggest ye replace your French guards with men who know who is your enemy and who is not.”

  “That is no easy task,” Albany said, touching the fingertips of his hands together as he glared at Alex, “even for someone who can distinguish one MacDonald from another.”

  Touché.

  “You will forgive us our vigilance against traitors,” Albany bit out. “A group of MacIains just arrived to report that the rebels have laid siege to Mingary Castle and lain waste to all the surrounding lands.”

  “My clan had no part in this attack,” Alex said.

  “I would prefer to hear that from your chieftain.” Albany stood and began pacing in front of Alex. “I assume he is here with you in Edinburgh, as ordered?”

  “I am our chieftain’s cousin,” Alex said. “I’ve come in his stead to assure you—”

  “I am not assured.” The regent stopped pacing and fixed his piercing blue eyes on Alex. “I summoned your chieftain, not his cousin.”

  “He would have come himself, but he was badly injured at the time he became chieftain and has not yet fully recovered,” Alex said, knowing that a partial truth was always more credible than a complete lie.

  “Or he is laying siege to Mingary Castle with the other rebels.” Albany’s face was growing red. “I will not tolerate it! Make no mistake, the clans in the Western Isles will be brought to heel.”

  “My clan has no dispute with either the Crown or the MacIains,” Alex said, wishing he had arrived before the news of this latest rebel attack.

  “I need proof,” the regent said, his eyes narrow angry slits.

  “If my clan were fighting, I would be with them.” Alex spread his arms out. “As ye can see, I’m here.”

  “While your chieftain is at Mingary with three hundred warriors, raping and pillaging with the rest of these traitorous heathens,” Albany shouted.

  “We don’t hold with rape,” Alex said, offended.

  Being called traitorous heathens, however, didn’t bother him overmuch. A Highlander’s only true allegiance was to his clan, and though Highlanders were as good of Christians as anyone, they didn’t let that interfere with the old customs more than they had to.

  “If your clan is not in league with the rebels, then I expect your chieftain to send warriors promptly to fight them.”

  “He will as soon as he can spare the men,” Alex said. “For now, my chieftain must keep his warriors at home to protect our clan from the MacLeods, who have already stolen some of our lands, and from the pirates, who are raiding all up and down the Western Isles. In fact, Your Grace, we could use some assistance ourselves.”

  Judging from the regent’s thunderous expression, he didn’t like Alex’s suggestion.

  “Perhaps the MacDonalds of Sleat need a chieftain who is willing to fight for the Crown,” Albany snapped. “I’ve been told that Hugh MacDonald would do so if he were chieftain.”

  Alex usually held his temper, but the regent’s veiled threat to support Hugh in a bid to take the chieftainship from Connor had it rising fast.

  “We call him Hugh Dubh, Black Hugh, because of his black heart,” Alex said. “He is one of the pirates terrorizing innocent folk, and you
’d be a fool to trust him.”

  The courtiers observing their exchange gasped as one.

  “I will use whoever and whatever I must to put down this rebellion.” Albany’s voice was soft now, but his fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were white. “Tell me, does your chieftain have a son or a brother?”

  “His brother is dead, and he has no son yet.” A prickle of unease began working it’s way up Alex’s spine.

  “You are his closest kin?”

  “I’m as close as any, after his sister in Ireland,” Alex said.

  “Then we’ll have to make do with you for a hostage,” the regent said. “You shall be our guest at Edinburgh Castle until your chieftain commits his warriors to fighting the rebels.”

  The urge to escape pulsed through Alex. In a flash, he knew how he would do it. He saw himself pulling his hidden blade and springing on the regent. With his dirk at Albany’s throat, he could use him to get out of the palace. From there, it would be easy to escape the city.

  Alex was quick, and he was bold. He knew he could do it.

  There was nothing he would hate more than to be locked in a confined space for months or years. He would rather fight a hundred battles, die a dozen ugly deaths.

  And yet, a man must make the sacrifice that is needed, not the one he would choose for himself. If serving as the Crown’s hostage would buy Connor time for the clan, Alex must let them take him.

  Albany waved his hand at the guards and shouted, “Seize him!”

  CHAPTER 19

  My, don’t ye look lovely,” Glynis’s aunt Peg said, clasping her hands together in front of her. “The gown fits ye like a glove.”

  Glynis ran her hands over the soft wool. It felt strange to be wearing her mother’s clothes. Bessie, the slight, middle-aged maid, had found the trunk with her mother’s things in the attic.

  “Ye are just her size,” Bessie said, as she fastened the last button at the back of Glynis’s neck. “And just as pretty.”