Wicked Laird (Brethren of Stone 2)

Chapter One

Blair Sinclair stood in the early morning light, surveying the land that now belonged to him. The vestiges of winter still clung to the landscape but the air smelled of spring. Its scent filled him with hope. He was on the right path for the first time in a long time.

He raked his hand through his hair, memories of his mistakes playing through his mind. The parade of women he’d wasted time with, the one woman who’d tossed him aside, and the death of his parents that had jarred him into facing some hard truths.

Shaking away the memories, he focused on the present. His eyes swept to the east where he could just catch a glimpse of the ocean. The laird who’d maintained the land before him had failed. The Highlands were a difficult and sometimes unforgiving landscape. Determination bolted through him. He’d not fall prey to this place the way the last laird had. Not just because he wouldn’t try to farm this land, or raise sheep on it, at least not for a profit. He was sure to succeed because he was the next branch of the Sinclair Shipping Company. And because he would will it into being if it came to that.

He stood straighter, filling his chest with clean Highland air. He would be part of his brother’s business, but he had done this on his own. Saved and scraped until he could buy the perfect piece of land on a beautiful harbor.

As his eyes sought the water again, he caught a flicker or a flash of light. He’d grown up on the ocean and recognized the sun glinting off a white sail. Blair had yet to put in docks, or purchase the ships that would join his brother’s fleet. So who was sailing into his harbor?

He brushed the dirt from his kilt and started down the path that would take him to the water’s edge, mildly relieved to have a break from the monotonous task he was trying to complete. He’d been using a scythe to cut back the weeds from around the caretaker’s dilapidated cabin.

It would take all his money to get the harbor ready to begin shipping. And though his brother, Stone, had offered, he refused to take aid from his family. He was a man who could support himself. So that meant, for now, making the small cottage his home. He couldn’t afford to renovate or staff the crumbling manor that came with the land.

Not that he cared. His brother was the Earl of Alban. His title literally meant stone. And though the name likely came from the rocky cliffside they called home, the Sinclair clan was about as hard-headed as they came. A point of pride for them, really.

He’d push his way to success no matter the cost.

Making his way down the slope that led to the beach, he caught sight of the tiny sailboat once again. It listed to one side, its angle at odds with the waves. Narrowing his gaze, he watched as the sail dipped into the water. He heard the cry, so faint, it might have been a gull. Or a person, who’d just been tossed into the near freezing water.

His muscles tightened and, redoubling his efforts, he barreled down the rest of the path and stripped his shirt as he ran. He barely noticed the cool morning air as he pushed his feet through the sand. The boat was still afloat but sinking, and as he moved closer he could see someone clutching at the mast.

It was an older boy, he’d wager by the size and the sound of the voice, wearing a floppy fishing hat on his head. Why the lad didn’t swim in Blair couldn’t say, but as the lad screamed again, Blair knew he was getting in the water. Hell and damnation.

“Help,” came the cry.

Diving in, Blair ignored the blast of cold as he began taking long smooth strokes, cutting through the water, slicing beneath the waves. He was an excellent swimmer but the little boat was going down fast. Now only the boy’s head remained above the water. “Kick,” Blair yelled, not stopping to see if the boy obeyed.

“I can’t, my—” But Blair’s head went back under the water as he made a final push to reach the boy and he missed the rest of his words. Taking one last long stroke, he made it to the boat, just as it sank below the surface. The boy reached up with one arm, his head just rising out of the water as Blair grabbed his elbow. “Let go of the mast,” he yelled over the rush of the surf.

He did and Blair pulled him through the water, intent upon putting the boy on his back and swimming to shore.

But as his body came into contact with the lad, he realized in a split second that it was no child at all and certainly not a boy. His insides clenched in reaction and he gritted his teeth to control his body’s reaction. Arms wound around his neck and the crush of breasts against his bare chest couldn’t be mistaken. He looked down at the delicate features of a bloody woman. Her wide green eyes stared at him as her full lips opened in a tiny O. Not just a woman but a beautiful one at that.

Hell and damnation.

Elle clung to the neck of the man who’d swum out to rescue her, wishing for the thousandth time that morning she could just go home and begin this day again. It had gone wrong from the first and was only getting worse with each breath she took.

“Let go of my neck,” the man’s deep voice rumbled through her near frozen body.

The last thing she wanted to do was let go. His muscles rippled underneath her in hard warmth. At this moment, he was all that stood between her and the frozen waves. “What?”

“I need to turn ye around tae swim ye in. Let go.”

She didn’t give her a chance to respond as they both dipped under the water while he grabbed her hands to pull them from his neck then shifted her so her back pressed against his chest.

The moment his vice grip had secured her, he gave a powerful kick, muscles working behind her as they shot through the water toward the shore.

Despite the cold and the pain radiating out from her ankle, she couldn’t help but be aware of the man who now carried her to safety. He was muscled like few men she’d ever met.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t need a man to help her through life. Well, except for right now, of course. But in general, she was determined to raise her brother on her own. Help usually came at a cost.

Oh dear lord, what would be the cost for this man’s he

lp today? Life had taught her that nothing ever came for free. Surely there would be some form of recompense required.

“Is there anyone else wit ye?” he asked as they neared the shore.

She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her head. Between chattering teeth, she answered. “No, just me.”

His chest rumbled, the vibrations travelling through her but she couldn’t say what it meant.

Using the waves, he brought them into shore, and stumbled out of the water with her still on his back. Elle sucked in her breath as the cold air hit her back. The biting wind was worse than the water.

Hardly able to breathe, she didn’t have a moment to tell him that her ankle was hurt when he set her down on the shore.

Pain like she’d only experienced once before shot through her leg. With a scream, she fell into the sand.

“Bloody bulllocks,” the man cursed, turning back to her. “What’s wrong?”

“My ankle,” she cried as she curled onto her side to clutch at the hurt limb.

He dropped down next to her and carefully lifted the leg. “We’ll have to get the boot off. If yer ankle is too swollen, we might need to cut it away.”

Her eyes bulged. “We can’t cut it. It’s the only pair I have.” They had once been a pair of beautiful leather boots and while they were now worn, they were at least whole.

“All right, lass. Calm down. We’ll try to remove it first.” Working quickly, he loosened the laces and then began to take off the shoe.

She scrunched her face as she watched his massive hands work, but to her surprise, they were achingly gentle as they pulled the boot away. Without a word, he handed her the shoe and scooped her into his arms.

His heat seeped into her skin. She’d been colder than she’d realized or he was an oven of heat. Either way, she snuggled down into his massive chest. Sneaking a peek, she looked up at his features again. She’d only noted in the water his strength and handsome face. Now she took in his features and suppressed a feminine sigh. Dark brown eyes, fringed with dark lashes, drew her gaze from the hard lines of his face. His square jaw and thick neck might have frightened her but his lips softened them, full and near perfect. He was a man of contradiction, looking formidable and fierce but with a gentleness that had surprised her. Not that she’d allow that to lull her into feeling safe. She’d trusted a man to rescue her once, and she’d been far worse off for his supposed help.

He carried her up the hill, taking long strides. And she wondered how he moved so quickly with her weight in addition to his own.

She didn’t realize her teeth were still chattering until he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “We’re almost there.”

“W-w-where?” she managed to push out between near frozen lips.