Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

M ARGARET M ALLORY

NEW YORK BOSTON

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Table of Contents

A Preview of The Sinner

Copyright Page

This book is dedicated to the red-haired women in my

family—my sister, daughter, and three nieces—who

were clamoring for a red-haired heroine.

Sìleas (SHEE-las) is for you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My biggest thanks goes to my long-suffering husband, who—among other trials—gracefully puts up with jokes about where I get the inspiration for my love scenes.

I am grateful to my editor, Alex Logan, and the rest of the crew at Grand Central Publishing for all they do for me. This time, I owe a special thanks to Amy Pierpont and Alex for suggesting I try my hand at writing Scottish historicals. If I’d known how much fun I’d have with my Highlanders, I would have done this sooner. I’m giving a wild cheer for Diane Luger and the art department for the gorgeous cover with a hero who looks exactly as I wrote him.

Many thanks to my agent, Kevan Lyon, for her enthusiastic support and wise counsel. Warm thanks also goes to Anthea, Wanda, and Ginny for their helpful comments on the draft—and for reviewing it in an unreasonably short time. I am grateful to my RWA chapter-mates and the many romance authors who continue to help me along the way.

D. J. Macleod, Honorary Librarian for the Gaelic Society of Inverness, was very kind to send me a copy of the Society’s invaluable but out-of-print article, Marriage, Divorce and Concubinage in Gaelic Scotland , by David Sellar. Finally, thanks to Sharron Gunn, who helped me with Gaelic and other things Scottish.

Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall cumasach.

Many a ragged colt becomes a noble horse.

PROLOGUE

ISLE OF SKYE

Scotland

1500

Teàrlag MacDonald, the oldest living member of her clan and a seer of some repute, let her good eye travel slowly from boy to boy. Visitors to her tiny cottage at the edge of the sea were rare.

“What brings ye lads to come see me on this blustery night?”

“We want to know our future, Teàrlag,” young Connor said. “Can ye tell us what ye see for us?”

The boy who spoke was the chieftain’s second son, a strapping lad of twelve with the pitch-black hair of his mother’s side.

“Are ye sure ye want to hear?” she asked. “Most often I foretell death, did ye not know?”

The four lads exchanged glances, but none took a step toward the door. They were braver than most. Still, she wondered what led them to be crowding her cottage and dripping rain on her floor this particular night.

“Ye feared I might die before I foretold somethin’ about ye, is that it?”

She fixed her good eye on the youngest, a lad of ten with black hair like his cousin Connor’s and eyes as blue as the summer sky. The lad blushed, confirming her suspicion.

“Well, I don’t expect to die as soon as ye think, Ian MacDonald.”

Ian raised his eyebrows. “So ye know me, Teàrlag?”

“ ’Course I know ye. The three of ye,” she said, pointing her finger at Ian and his cousins Alex and Connor, “are my blood relations.”

Learning they were related to a woman with one eye and a hunched back did not appear to please them. She chuckled to herself as she turned to toss a handful of herbs on the fire. As it crackled and spit, she leaned forward to breathe in the tangy fumes. She could not call upon the sight at will, but sometimes the herbs made the vision clearer.

As soon as the boys entered her cottage, smelling of dogs, damp wool, and the sea, she had seen the orangey glow about them that signaled a vision was coming. It was unusual for her to see the glow around more than one person at a time. She suspected it was because the lads were close as thieves, but it was not for her to question her gift.

“Ye first,” she said, curling her finger at Ian.

The lad’s eyes grew big, but when one of the other boys gave him a shove, he came around the table to stand beside her.

Quick as a wink, she slipped a small, smooth stone into his gaping mouth. The stone did not help her see, but it added to the mystery and would keep him quiet.

“Don’t swallow the stone, laddie,” she said, “or it’ll kill ye.”

Ian turned wide eyes on his cousin Connor, who gave him a reassuring nod. She rested her hand on Ian’s head and closed her eyes. The vision, already forming from the moment he passed through her door, came quickly.

“Ye shall wed twice,” she said. “Once in anger and once in love.”

“Two wives!” Alex, the one with the fair hair of his Viking ancestors, hooted with laughter. “That will keep ye busy.”

Ian spit out the stone into his hand. “I didn’t want to know that, Teàrlag. Can ye not tell me something interesting… like how many battles I’ll fight in… or if I’ll die at sea?”

“I can’t command the sight, lad. If it chooses to speak of love and women, then so be it.” She looked to the others. “What of the rest of ye?”

The other three made faces as if she had given them one of her bitter-tasting remedies.

She cackled and slapped the table. “No so brave now, are ye, lads?”

“It is no fair for ye to hear about my two wives,” Ian said to the others, “unless I hear about yours.”

Alex gave the other two lads a lopsided grin and exchanged places with Ian.

“I don’t need the sight to know ye were born to give trouble to the lasses.” She shook her head. The boys would all be handsome men, but this one had the devil in his eye. “Shame, but there is nothin’ to be done about it.”

Alex grinned. “Sounds verra good to me.”

“Ach.” She popped a second stone from the dish on the table into Alex’s mouth and put her hand on his head. ’Twas good luck she had gathered pretty stones from the shore that morning.

“Tsk, tsk, this is no good at all. One day, ye’ll come across a woman so beautiful as to hurt your eyes, sittin’ on a rock in the sea.” She opened her eyes and thumped Alex on the chest. “Watch out for her, for she might be a selkie taking on her human form to lure ye to your death.”

“I’d rather have a selkie than two wives,” Ian grumbled from across the table.

For a MacDonald of Sleat to put away one wife to take another was common as grass. It seemed the way of it for them to break the hearts of the women who loved them.

Teàrlag closed her eyes again—and laughed so hard it made her cough. Ach, this was a surprise, for certain.

“Alex, I see ye courtin’ an ugly, pockmarked lass,” she said, wiping her eyes on her shawl. “I fear she is quite stout as well. And I don’t mean pleasing plump, mind ye.”

The other boys doubled over laughing until they were red-faced.

“I think ye are having fun with me,” Alex said, looking sideways at her. “Since I’ve no intention of marrying, I am sure that if I do, the lass would have to be verra, verra pretty.”

“I see what I see.” She gave Alex a push and motioned to Duncan. He was a big, red-haired lad whose mother had served as Connor’s nursemaid.

“This one has the blood of both the MacKinnon Sea Witch and the Celtic warrior queen, Scáthach, so mind ye keep him on your side,” she said, wagging her finger at the other three. To Duncan, she said, “That’s where ye get your fierceness—and your temper.”