Kilted Sin (Brethren of Stone 3)

“A young woman from St. Mary’s Orphanage brought them here,” she said matter-of-factly. “The nuns had looked at their birth records and found they were connected to the family.”

Relief rippled down his spine. “Birth records? Is St. Mary’s a local facility?” He gave Mrs. Cleary a glare, hoping she would realize her mistake. “I’ve only been the laird for a fortnight.”

Understanding dawned in Mrs. Cleary’s eyes as they widened considerably and her cheeks filled with color. “Oh my. We’ll have to send them back.” Then she reached into her apron pocket and handed him an envelope.

Will supposed it was unreasonable to think that Mrs. Cleary might apologize for her assumption that he’d fathered and abandoned multiple children.

“No,” a little voice inserted. “Please.”

His gaze swung to the little

girl, her red hair coming down either shoulder in matching braids. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please don’t send us back there.”

He winced as something tugged in his chest. She didn’t wail, but a silent tear slid down her cheek. It made him ache for her all the more.

His own parents had died when he’d been a teenager. Will understood a little of what it meant to be an orphan. He’d been lucky. His brother Stone had stepped up and taken over the family and the duties of the earldom. It was a Sinclair motto to take care of those who were less fortunate and Stone was the embodiment of that dedication.

But still, Will remembered that feeling of uncertainty, like being adrift at sea, when his parents had died.

“We’re not doing anything yet,” he found himself saying. What the hell? When had he allowed every female he came into contact with to completely run his life? “What’s yer name?”

“Fiona,” she whispered while squeezing her brother’s hand. “And this is Ewan.”

He leaned his arms on the table. Normally, he would have squatted down, but who knew what view he’d give them. “I’m Will and that is Mrs. Cleary.”

She gave a little nod and stepped toward him with a tentative step. “It’s not nice there,” she whispered. “Please let us stay here. Please. We’ll do anything. We can help clean.”

His gut clenched. He looked up to Mrs. Cleary. He could barely afford the food to feed them, the house was understaffed as it were, and Mrs. Cleary openly glared. “I can not be responsible for these children on top of my other duties,” she said sternly.

He did not appreciate this woman’s complete lack of respect but damn it all to hell if she didn’t have a point. She was already doing the work of several people. “Please begin heating the water for a bath,” Will said. “I’ll carry the buckets upstairs myself.”

“What do you want me to do with them?” She waved her arm toward the children again.

He couldn’t do anything today. He was near frozen and tired as hell. He’d have to figure it out tomorrow. He grasped the letter in his hand. Hopefully it had some answers. “Prepare the room next to mine for them to use.”

Mrs. Cleary’s eyebrows went up but the woman didn’t reply other than to turn and begin pumping water into the buckets.

He heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, she’d stopped talking.

What he didn’t know how to do was stop the voices in his head. He looked down at the matching pair of blue eyes that stared up at him. On the one hand, he couldn’t be responsible for these children. On the other, he was a Sinclair. Would Stone turn children away?

Carrying the water upstairs, he dumped it into the tub and then poured himself a full snifter of whisky. Sinking into the hot bath, he took a large swig of his drink. What a day it had been.

* * *

Gemma sighed as she sat down to breakfast, smoothing out the fresh pleats of her skirt. One benefit to being a laundress was that she could make nearly any piece of clothing look like new with a hot iron.

She’d carefully arranged the folds to cover any worn sections of the fabric.

Last night, while she’d taken a hot bath, she’d been rather pleased with herself. For once, she’d taken the upper hand in an interaction with a man.

Gemma knew she was attractive. Not that it had ever done her a bit of good. Hell, her looks had landed her with a waste of a husband. Then, when he’d gone, having been a married woman, other men in her village had felt it appropriate to suggest all forms of lewd behavior to her.

The problem, she supposed, as she lay in bed, a warm, safe bed, was that the laird she met yesterday hadn’t been inappropriate in the least. In fact, he’d been rather…gentlemanly under the circumstances.

William Sinclair.

A handsome one, her naked laird. Well, he wasn’t hers. No man was hers. Or would be ever again. Louts, the lot of ‘em.