Wicked Laird: Brethren of Stone Book 2 Page 12

  For starters he’d spent nearly every piece of silver he had to his name on a piece of land in the Highlands. What little remained jingled in a pouch at his side. He was fortunate that it was already working land, fully staffed and ready to turn a profit but it was still a large leap for anyone to take. He had no money to pay the house staff and he wouldn’t collect rents for several weeks. His skin rippled with anxiousness, just thinking about it and he kicked the horse faster.

  At least he could console himself that he was doing what was best for the people that occupied the land. They would continue to have a lord to keep their jobs safe and the demand for their product secure.

  Helping others was the Sinclair way. His family prided themselves on taking care of those around them, especially those not able to care for themselves.

  Seeing the sparkle of water ahead, he straightened away from Hades’ neck even as he pulled off his shirt. Reaching the water’s edge, he jumped out of the saddle and dropped the garment to the ground. Then, he kicked off his boots and stripped down his trousers. His horse, exceptionally well trained, wouldn’t move until a rider was back in the saddle. The wind nipped at his skin and for a moment, and he hesitated. Perhaps jumping headlong into freezing water or large purchases of land was not the best method for running his life. Mayhap it was time to think things through a bit more.

  “I did not expect to see the moon so early in the day,” a high clear feminine voice called behind him.

  Reaching down, he snatched up the first garment he could get his fingers around and pulled it in front of his male parts. Then he spun about to see who he was dealing with. “I’ll have ye ken that this is a private swim.”

  “Private?” A lass called from several feet away. Will’s teeth snapped together. Dark auburn hair and vivid blue eyes met his gaze. A playful smile tugged at her full lips as a hand rested jauntily on a pair of decidedly delicious hips. “Since when did lochs become private?”

  An imp. Granted she was a beautiful one but still a saucy little woodland fairy set here to do mischief. He could tell by the look in her eye. He looked down and realized he’d grabbed up his shirt. Damn. If it had been his pants, he would have tried to put them on. “This particular loch is located smack dab in the middle of my land. I can’t rightly recall if I own the water but I ken I own what ye’re currently standing on. That makes this private property and you…” he levelled her with a glare. “A trespasser.”

  Her eyebrows notched up as she took a few steps toward him. Her hips gave a saucy sway as she moved. “Trespasser? Is that right, my lord?” her chin notched down, making her eyes look larger. “What will you do with me?”

  He sucked in his breath. He’d spent the last several weeks helping his brother Blair to get his shipping company up and running. He hadn’t had time for much else, besides the purchase of the land that bordered Blair’s. Belatedly, it occurred to him it had been weeks, if not months since he’d been with a woman. And none of them had ever been as tempting as the Scottish fairy in front of him.

  Her straight little nose wrinkled slightly. “Tell me you won’t hurt me, will you? With all those rippling muscles and manly shoulders.”

  His gaze followed the delicate curve of her neck down to the neckline of her simply wool gown. He could see the ample curve of her breast and he willed himself to concentrate on anything else. He gave a snort. “Hurt a woman? Don’t be daft. But all the same, I’d prefer privacy. Remember, we’ve covered this already.”

  She began moving toward him again, her movements slow and hypnotic. “You know,” she started, her voice dropping low with a husky tone. He shivered with the promise it held. “Private doesn’t have to mean alone.”

  Dear merciful saints. Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? And where had his senses gone? Clearly they’d all rushed down to the swelling part of his body because his brain was actually considering her not so subtle offer. “In this case it does.” He took a step back, reaching out one hand. “If you will excuse me, Miss…” his eyebrows went up, waiting for her to fill in her name.

  “McClaren,” she gave him a sweet smile as she continued to move closer. “And you are?”

  “Will Sinclair,” he took another step back, his heel dipping into the freezing water. Had he actually been contemplating a swim? The cold did allow some of the blood to begin circulating back through his body and into his brain. “Now I must insist you go.”

  Finally, she ceased her advanced, stopping about a foot in front of him. Delicate ivory fingers reached up and touched his cheek, skimming down his rougher skin and trailing over his neck. He forgot all about the cold, and the functioning of his mind, as his body roared with need at the touch.

  “Go? But I just got here,” Her palm flattened on his chest. “Tell me, Laird Sinclair. Are your holdings large? Do you have a good life here in the Highlands? Is this a place one can make a life?”

  “You’re not from here?” He managed to push out in a raspy voice that sounded strange to his own ears.

  She ran the flat of her hand over his nipple and he sucked in his breath as sensation tightened the muscles of his stomach. This woman was the sweetest form of torture he’d ever known. Her other hand lifted toward him and he found himself eagerly awaiting her touch, the last of his will to resist being stripped away.

  “Nope. I’m from Kirkaldy. Just come for a visit.” She stepped a touch closer so that he could feel her heat as she blocked part of his body from the wind.

  He raised his hands to hold that tiny waist. “Who are ye visit--”

  But his words were cut short as with a mighty push, he went flying backward into the water. His first thought was, how could a woman who looked so dleicate be so strong? As his body hit the icy water, he stopped thinking at all. It was shallow enough that he had a difficult time getting his feet under him and as he stood, he blinked the water out of his eyes. Swiping at them with his soaking shirt, he cleared them just in time to see her riding away on his horse, his pants firmly in her grasp, waving like a flag in the wind.

  He was soaking wet with naught but a pair of boots.

  Gemma whipped the beast faster as she flew over the bare open land of the highlands. She ignored the guilt niggling in her belly. He might freeze to death after what she’d done.

  Then again, he was the fool about to go for a swim.

  Besides, he was a fat and happy laird, well not fat actually. She didn’t mean that literally. He was actually rather lean and muscular. Handsome, if a girl liked that rugged, craggy sort of look. Which she did, unfortunately.

  Quite honestly, her affection for rough looking men was what had landed her in this mess in the first place.

  Sean had been the same sort. Darkly handsome and charming as a summer day was long. She’d fallen for all of it. Married the sod even. What a gullible little fool she’d been.

  Her mother had tried to warn her. “He’s no good, Gemma. His father was no good and his grandfather was no good. Leave him be or you’ll regret it.”

  Had she listened? No. She stuck by him even when he stopped working on the docks. And she’d kept up the façade when he’s spent his days and most of his nights in the pub. It wasn’t until he’d left for the Highlands chasing a real life for them, or so he’d said, that she knew just how right her mother had been. Her silly, weak heart had still held out hope however. He sent a few letters but after a year, he disappeared entirely. It took another full year before she’d stopped waiting on some message from him and year after that before she could enter their cottage without staring down the lane to see if he might appear.

  By the third year he was gone, she’d erased every last clue he had ever lived there. Ever shared her life. It was as though he didn’t exist.

  That was until another letter had arrived.

  Not from Sean but a magistrate. The carefully penned note explained that as Sean McClaren’s first and legal wife, upon his death, she was entitled to his inheritance and that she need report to the ma
gistrate’s office located at the village center of Aberdeen to collect. Failure to do so within one year’s time would result in the forfeit of said property to the next of kin, his eldest son.

  Her stomach had near fallen to her feet. First and legal wife? Eldest son? Her and Sean, bless the lord, hadn’t had children, but the letter implied he had not one but multiple sons. In fairness, it had also implied that he had more than one wife.

  She gripped the pants tighter. Men were scum. She didn’t know Will Sinclair but he’d likely deserved his swim in the loch.

  And more than likely he deserved the little lesson she’d delivered about trying to take advantage of a lone woman. Of course, he probably wouldn’t see the theft of his horse and change purse as a lesson but that was his problem.

  Besides. She really needed both. She was barely able to support herself as a seamstress and the trip up here to find out what had happened to Sean had taken every extra penny she had. Whatever the pants contained, would feed her as she tried to find out what her no good rotten husband had been doing before he up and died.

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  More about Tammy

  Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of 18, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.

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