Margaret Mallory: The Sinner

“It’s just that I know women,” Alex explained, as he took a slab of roasted mutton with his knife. “So I can tell the ones who would welcome a pinch.”

Glynis pointed her drumstick at him. “Ye pinched me, and I didn’t want ye to.”

“Pinching your padding doesn’t count,” Alex said. “You’d wink if I pinched ye, Mistress Glynis. Ye may not know it yet, but I can tell.”

Instead of laughing and calling him vain again, as he’d hoped, her expression turned tense. “I don’t like the way my father looks.”

“How does he look to ye?” Alex asked.

“Hopeful.”

* * *

Alex and Duncan slept on the floor of the hall with a score of snoring MacNeils. At dawn, Alex awoke to the sound of soft footfalls crossing the floor. He rolled to the side and leaped to his feet, leaving his host kicking the empty space where Alex had been lying.

“You’re quick,” the MacNeil said, with an approving nod. “I only meant to wake ye.”

“That could have gotten ye killed,” Alex said, as he slipped his dirk back into his belt. “And then I’d have no end of trouble leaving your fine home.”

Duncan was feigning sleep, but his hand was on the hilt of his dagger. If Alex gave the signal, Duncan would slit their host’s throat, and the two of them would be halfway to their boat before anyone else in the hall knew what had happened.

“Come for a stroll with me,” the MacNeil said. “I’ve something to show ye.”

“I could use some fresh air after all the whiskey ye gave me last night.”

Because it was difficult to discover a man’s true intentions when he was sober, Alex had matched the MacNeil drink for drink far into the night. No doubt his host had the same goal in mind.

“No one forced it down your throat,” the MacNeil said, as they left the hall.

“Ah, but ye knew I am a MacDonald,” Alex said. “We don’t like to lose, whether it be drinking games or battles.”

The MacNeil cocked an eyebrow. “Or women?”

Alex didn’t take the bait. His problem had never been losing women, but finding a graceful way to end it when the time came—which it always did.

Alex followed the MacNeil out the gate and onto the narrow causeway that connected the castle to the main island.

The MacNeil halted and pointed down the beach. “My daughter Glynis is there.”

Alex’s gaze was riveted to the slender figure walking barefoot along the shore with her back to them. Her long hair was blowing in the wind, and every few feet she stopped and leaned over to pick up something from the beach. Ach, she made a lovely sight. Alex had a weakness for a woman who liked to get her feet wet.

“Ye strike me as a curious man,” the MacNeil said. “Don’t ye want to know what she truly looks like?”

Alex did want to know. He narrowed his eyes at the MacNeil. He was more accustomed to having fathers hide their daughters from him. “Are ye not fond of your daughter?”

“Glynis is my only child by my first wife. She’s verra much like her mother, who was as difficult a woman as was ever born.” The MacNeil sighed. “God, how I loved her.”

More proof if Alex needed it—which he didn’t—that love led to misery.

“The other girls are sweet, biddable lasses who will tell their husbands they are wise and clever and always in the right, whether they are or no,” the chieftain continued. “But not Glynis.”

The younger sisters sounded too dull by half.

“I didn’t raise Glynis any different, she just is,” the MacNeil said. “If we were attacked and I was killed, the other girls would weep and wail, helpless creatures that they are. But Glynis would pick up a sword and fight like a she-wolf to protect the others.”

“So why are ye so anxious to see Glynis wed?” Alex asked. She seemed the only one worth keeping to him.

“She and her stepmother are like dry kindling and a lit torch. Glynis needs her own home. She doesn’t like being under the thumb of another woman.”

“Or a man’s,” Alex said. “Judging from what I heard she did to her former husband.”

“Ach, he was a fool to tell the tale,” the MacNeil said with a wave of his hand. “What man with any pride would admit his wife got her blade into his hip? Ye know what she was aiming for, of course.”

Alex winced. He’d had women weep and occasionally toss things at him, but none had ever tried to cut off his manly parts.

But then, Alex had never married.

CHAPTER 3

The pungent smell of low tide filled Alex’s nose as he followed Glynis MacNeil over the barnacled rocks and seaweed along the shore. Each time the wind blew against her skirts and revealed her slender frame, he smiled to himself. She was absorbed in collecting shells and did not appear to hear his approach over the cries of the gulls and the rhythmic crash of the surf.

When she hiked her skirts to create a makeshift basket for her collection, a sigh of appreciation escaped Alex’s throat. He could see no more than slender ankles and a precious few inches of calf, but his gaze slid upward, imagining long, shapely legs.

Glynis paused over a tide pool. Something caught her eye, and she dropped down for a closer look, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her rich brown hair formed a curtain, hiding her face from his view. Would the lass’s face be as alluring as her long, slender body?

It was time to satisfy his curiosity. In a few long strides, he stood over her.

“I see ye found a purple starfish,” Alex said. “That means good luck is coming your way.” He made that up, of course.

When Glynis tipped her head back to look at him, Alex’s heart missed several beats—and then made up for it by hammering in his chest. He’d noticed the beauty of her wide, gray eyes the night before. But in that face, they were arresting.

Her features were a tantalizing mixture of wholesomeness and sensuality, from the sprinkling of delicate freckles across her nose to her full, rosy lips. The unusual combination set off warring urges within him. He had a wild desire to lay her back on the sand and watch those gray eyes glaze with pleasure as he had his wicked way with her. At the same time, he felt an odd urge to protect her.

Alex knew he should reassure her, for he had clearly startled her, but words failed him. This was so unlike him that he wondered for a moment if a fairy had cast a spell upon him.

But then the lass fell backward onto her arse, and he knew she was human.

* * *

The man’s voice startled Glynis, and she looked up with her heart pounding.

She recognized the golden warrior looming above her to be Alex MacDonald, the man she’d spoken to last night. At least, part of her knew that was who he was. But with the glow of sunrise shining all about him, he looked like a Viking marauder come to blazing life out of the old stories her father’s seannachie told.

She could imagine him standing in the prow of his ship with his white-blond hair blowing behind him and carved gold bands encircling his bare, muscled arms. When he fixed green eyes the color of the sea on her, she felt as if something slammed into her chest, and she fell backward.

The shock of cold water jarred her from her trance. Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized she was sitting in a pool of seawater, soaking the back of her skirts to her skin.

“Sorry, lass. I shouldn’t have startled ye like that.” The glint of humor that touched his eyes as he held out his hand should have made him less threatening—but it did not.

Glynis swallowed and gave him her hand, which was gritty with sand. He hoisted her up effortlessly, as if she were as petite as her sisters. Tall as she was, Glynis had to tilt back her head to look into his face. She was vaguely aware that she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.