A Taste of Sin (13 page)

Lord, what an absolute ass Julian must think him.

The following morning, after a night of intense introspection, Sinjun saw John Coachman off and went to the hall in search of food. Christy was already breaking her fast with Margot and the young man he recognized as Christy’s London coachman.

“You remember Rory Macdonald, don’t you?” Christy asked, nodding toward the sullen young man who was regarding him with resentment.

“I remember the face but not the name,” Sinjun said, taking a seat beside Christy. Immediately a short, round woman came in from the kitchen. She paused beside Sinjun, scowling unpleasantly.

“Do ye want something to eat, yer lordship?” she asked curtly.

“I’m sure Lord Derby is hungry, Mary,” Christy said reprovingly. “Bring him what we’re eating.”

Sinjun grimaced at the oat gruel Christy was spooning into her mouth. He didn’t like pap. “I’d prefer eggs and steak,” he said, smiling at Mary.

“Ye dinna want oats?” she asked, clearly affronted.

Sinjun shook his head. “I don’t like oats.”

“Did ye hear mat, Christy? The mon dinna like oats. All Scotsmen worth their salt eat oats in the morning.”

“Bring Lord Derby steak and eggs, Mary,” Christy said on a sigh. “ Tis his home, he can have what he wants for breakfast.”

Mary sent him a disgruntled look, then, with a swish of her skirts, stomped back to the kitchen.

“I trust you slept well, my lord,” Christy said.

“So I’m ‘my lord’ now, am I?” Sinjun replied, scowling. “I’m your husband, remember? You used to call me Sinjun.”

Color pinkened her cheeks. “Your coach left this morning without you, Sinjun. We have a few spirited horses in our stables, perhaps you’d prefer to ride one of them back to London.”

“Why are you so anxious to be rid of me?” His face darkened. “Is there another you would prefer to call husband?”

Her reply was forestalled when Mary appeared with Sinjun’s steak and eggs. He jumped when she banged the dish down in front of him. “Dinna choke on the steak, yer lordship,” she said sweetly. Then she whirled and marched back to her domain.

Neither Margot nor Rory did anything to hide their amusement. “Enjoy yer breakfast, yer lordship,” Margot said, rising. “Duties await me.” She sent Rory a speaking glance. “Are ye coming, Rory?”

Rory scraped back his chair. “Aye.”

“Wait,” Sinjun said around a mouthful of steak. “Since there are horses in the stables, I’d like to inspect my land and perhaps ride through the village today. I’ll require Rory’s assistance. Can you be ready in an hour, Rory?”

Rory slid an inquiring glance at Christy before answering. It galled Sinjun that Rory needed Christy’s approval when he was the lord of the manor. But he supposed it would take time for the Macdonalds, Camerons, Ranalds and Mackenzies to accept his authority as landowner. Winter was swift approaching and he doubted he’d be traveling until spring thaw made the roads passable again. According to his calculations, Christy would deliver his child sometime in March. He still had several months yet in which to decide what his future would hold where Christy and the child were concerned.

“I’ll go with ye, yer lordship,” Rory said, sounding pleased despite his scowl. “I’ll saddle the horses and meet ye outside in an hour.”

Rory left immediately. Sinjun devoted his attention to his food. His healthy appetite surprised him. In London he rarely rose before noon. Since his stomach was never at its best after a night of carousing, he ate sparingly during the early part of the day. Dinner was usually very late, possibly a midnight buffet at some social event or other. He couldn’t explain his appetite this morning, unless it was due to his enforced abstinence during his trip to the Highlands. He hadn’t touched a drop of anything stronger than ale since he left London.

“How long do you intend to honor us with your presence?” Christy asked as she pushed her empty bowl aside.

“Be careful,
wife,
I’m still bloody angry at you. I’ll let you know when I decide to leave. Did it ever occur to you I might want to learn more about my holdings?”

“No. That thought never occurred to me,”

Christy said bluntly. “You’re staying to punish me.”

His gaze raked her. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m staying because ‘tis time I took an interest in my holdings.”

“Damn interfering Englishman,” Christy muttered beneath her breath. “I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you.”

Sinjun dropped his fork, his anger mounting as he scraped his chair away from the table. “You needed me for one thing, madam.” He gazed purposefully at her stomach.

Christy faced him squarely, fists clenched, chin firmed, eyes blazing hotly. “Aye, my lord. Had I not wanted something from you I would never have debased myself. Do you know how embarrassing it was to play your whore? I’m your
wife
! Such subterfuge wouldn’t have been necessary had you been a proper husband to me. You wore me like a trophy upon your sleeve for the benefit of your friends. All of London whispered about Lord Sin’s latest mistress. God, how I hated it!”

Her outburst stunned Sinjun. She sounded as if she were the wounded party. Didn’t she know he had cared for her more than any other woman of his acquaintance? Had that been her plan all along? Make him care, then leave him to wonder why she had abandoned him? Was that to be his punishment for ignoring her all these years?

“You used me!” Sinjun charged.

“I took nothing that wasn’t rightfully mine,” Christy contended. “Is your pride wounded, Sinjun? Perhaps it was time a woman gave you your comeuppance. Lord Sin. Bah! Lord Decadence more aptly describes you.”

Rage seethed through Sinjun. He didn’t lose his temper often, but Christy was sorely trying him. It took all his willpower to keep from exploding. Mouth taut, expression stiff and cold, he turned his back on her and walked away.

Damn him!
Christy silently ranted. Why couldn’t he have remained in London? She had already set her mind to live the rest of her days without Sinjun. Then he’d barged into her secure life, bringing turmoil, along with painful memories of the man who had made a woman of her and taught her passion.

Her clansmen were more than a little disturbed over Sinjun’s arrival. Calum had even threatened his life. Why had Sinjun come alone, without guards or soldiers? He was but one Englishman among scores of Highlanders who hated the English passionately.

Christy sighed. She knew Sinjun would never forgive her for lying to him, and she really couldn’t blame him. But, oh, he made her so angry. The world didn’t revolve around Lord Sin. Had he expected her to welcome him into her bed last night? She grinned as she recalled his colorful curses when he’d tried to enter her chamber and found the door locked. What really galled was the knowledge that she had had to force herself to lock him out of the room. From the moment he’d entered Glenmoor, she’d hungered to touch him, to get close enough to inhale the male muskiness of his scent, which had haunted her dreams. The need had been so compelling that she’d had to force her anger to keep from surrendering to him.

If Sinjun had wanted her because he loved her, she would have welcomed him into her bed and into her heart. But Sinjun wasn’t a man easily satisfied by one woman. She might satisfy him while he remained at Glenmoor, but when he returned to London, Lord Sin would continue his wicked ways.

Her hand went to her stomach, where his bairn grew. He might not want the child, but she did, fiercely. The future Macdonald. He or she would inherit Glenmoor and give the clan back its pride, its heritage. Sinjun’s heir was the clan’s salvation, its destiny. More importantly, the child would be a part of Sinjun, someone to love after he was gone. It would be so easy to give Sinjun her heart were he of a mind to remain faithful to one woman. She vowed to raise her bairn to live up to the potential Sinjun himself would never attain.

Sinjun’s mount delighted him. He had no idea Glenmoor possessed a stable of such fine horseflesh. His stable, he reminded himself. Everything he’d just seen—the land upon which he rode, the village, the church, the fat sheep being driven down to the valley for the winter, was his. His chest swelled with a pride he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d never liked the wild, windswept Scottish Highlands, or its savage inhabitants, but now, a strange sense of peace, of possessiveness, made him see it differently.

“The moors are nay so beautiful this time of year, yer lordship,” Rory said by way of conversation. “In the spring they are covered with heather. ‘Tis a wondrous sight.”

Sinjun thought the hills and moors rather desolate this time of year, but no less beautiful. It was a different kind of beauty. Stark, comfortless … compelling. The trees had lost their leaves and the air was crisp with the promise of winter. He could hear the rush of water in the nearby loch and feel the salt spray upon his cheeks. It was so invigorating that Sinjun wasn’t surprised to discover he was hungry again.

Sinjun loved horses, and he rode in the park daily for exercise, but loping over leagues of open land, beneath a sky so blue it dazzled the eyes, was exhilarating. He wondered now why he’d taken such a strong dislike to the Highlands.

“Are those Glenmoor sheep grazing in the valley?” Sinjun asked.

“Aye. Clansmen tend the sheep for ye and receive a portion of the profit when the wool is sold. Some of the sheep will be butchered for meat and shared with the crofters.”

“Were the shepherds paid after the shearing this year?”

“Aye, but Sir Oswald said the market wasn’t good and they received less than they had expected. Then rents and taxes were raised. ‘Twas what started talk of rebellion. The Cameron urged everyone to protest by withholding the quarterly dues, and we all agreed.”

Sinjun mulled that over for a while, until they reached the village perched on a hillside below Glenmoor. There couldn’t have been more than two dozen stone cottages clustered together haphazardly. It was a poor village, Sinjun noted. The thatched roofs of nearly every cottage were badly in need of repairs.

People stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Their silent animosity was so potent that Sinjun was glad Rory was riding at his side. He stopped often to converse with the people, but most turned their backs and refused to acknowledge him.

“Not a very friendly lot, are they?” Sinjun said.

“Can ye blame them?” Rory replied. “An Englishman now owns them and the land they once called their own. The Macdonald does all she can to ease their suffering, but their children are still dying from starvation.” He sent Sinjun an aggrieved look. “And ye wonder why we hate Englishmen. When the land belonged to us we only fought amongst ourselves. We stole our neighbor’s livestock and they stole ours, it was a way of life. But we never went hungry.”

Sinjun took a closer look at the cottages and decided that something would have to be done before first snowfall.

“Can men of the village make the necessary repairs to the cottages?”

“Aye, but there isna enough thatch to go around and the homeowners canna afford to buy material. Many will die of ague when the winter snows come.”

“I will pay for repairs and give the workmen a decent wage,” Sinjun said, grateful for the gold sovereigns in his trunk. “Can you arrange it?”

“Ye want to pay for repairs out of yer own pocket, yer lordship?”

“ Tis what I said.” A passel of ragged children stopped their game of tag to stare at him. Sinjun was appalled at their lack of proper doming. Some even wore animal skins fashioned into tunics and breeches. He made a mental note to speak to Christy about the situation in the village.

“This village is the Macdonald stronghold, yer lordship,” Rory said. “Would ye like to visit the Cameron, Ranald, and Mackenzie strongholds?”

“Tomorrow, Rory, I’ve seen enough for today. Let’s head back to Glenmoor. I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

“Why dinna ye say ye were hungry?” Rory asked as he reached into the bag he carried at his waist and pulled out a bannock. “Have a bannock, yer lordship. Nothing like an oatcake to stave off hunger pangs. I never leave home without a few in me vittles bag.”

Sinjun accepted the oatcake with misgiving. He’d never liked oats in any form, considering it food fit for horses, not for humans, but he was too hungry to argue. He paused but a moment before biting off a chunk and chewing. Though somewhat dry, the taste wasn’t at all bad. In fact, he finished that and accepted another as they rode back to Glenmoor.

“Did ye mean what ye said about repairing the cottages?” Rory asked, as if unable to credit Sinjun’s generosity.

Sinjun sent Rory a sharp look. “What made you think I was lying?”

Rory shrugged. “Yer English,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Sinjun chewed that over for a moment, then said, “You don’t like me, do you? I sensed that in London.”

“Ye’ve given me no reason to like ye, yer lordship.”

“You knew what Christy intended, didn’t you?”

“Not at first. She told me after I spoke out about yer visits to her townhouse in the middle of the night. I dinna like it, but ’twas not my place to question the laird. Margot and I are handfasted, she would have had my hide if I betrayed the laird.”

“Tell me about the Camerons,” Sinjun said.