Kilted Sin (Brethren of Stone 3)

Still, an image of William flashed, clearly bringing back the memory of him standing, freezing cold and completely naked, in front of her. She shuddered. No matter how she felt about men, she didn’t want to see that particular man dead. She’d grown desperate, not having eaten in more days than she’d like to count.

Still, that fact didn’t really justify what she’d done and neither did her dislike for all men.

She left the inn, then made her way down the narrow streets, knowing exactly where she was going. She’d passed the small wooden sign announcing the offices of McLean and Phillips when she’d rode into the village of Munlochy the night before.

The horse she’d stolen was a fine animal. Gemma would have to find a way to return the beast and the money once she understood how much she’d inherited. Provided William had survived his plunge into the icy water.

Her stomach churned again. She should be nervous about seeing the magistrate. That’s what she’d travelled all this way for.

Instead, her thoughts continued to turn about William Sinclair.

Finally, she came to the little wooden sign she’d seen the day before. It squeaked on its hinges as the wind whipped down the street. Her skirt blew about her ankles and pieces of her hair swept out of the neat twist she’d pinned at her nape.

Taking a breath, she stared up at the sign. This was it.

Finally, she’d get some answers about what had happened to her husband.

Straightening her shoulders, she reached for the knob, the brass cold even through her glove.

She’d expected to have to pull the door, but suddenly, it was twisting in her hand and swinging open toward her. She stepped back, shifting her gaze up to see who came out.

Her breath ceased and her heart stopped in her chest.

William Sinclair stood before her. Alive, dressed, and holding a small child. His eyes narrowed even as his lip curled. Hellfire, she was in trouble.

Her heart stopped in her chest as her mouth fell open. Damnation. She’d committed one sin, theft, and she was already being punished.

Chapter Three

That siren of a woman stood before William her mouth hanging open. She snapped it shut and lifted her chin. He clenched his jaw as he assessed her. Had she been pretending to be surprised? Most likely. Just as she’d pretended yesterday to catch him off guard. “You,” he ground out, holding Ewan a little tighter.

“Me,” she squeaked, taking a step back.

He grasped her elbow with his free hand. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “We have some talking to do.”

He didn’t have time for this, really. Drawing in a deep breath, he realized that wasn’t entirely true. He needed his horse to make the rounds about the properties. He wanted to learn each man’s business so that he could make them more profitable. Add labor where it was necessary to ensure a successful crop. He had a staff on the verge of mutiny and he had two children that Mr. McLean had just confirmed were not his.

He’d read the letter, which had directed him to the lawyer for any information he might need. The damned thing had referred to them as child girl and child boy, they hadn’t even used their names nor had the nuns given them a single detail about the children themselves. No wonder Fiona didn’t want to return.

Fiona and Ewan weren’t sired by the old laird. They had belonged to one of the crofts within his property. The orphanage was past capacity and indenturing children as a means to clear beds. Since their parents had been under his jurisdiction, the orphanage was giving him first right of refusal on taking on their room and board in exchange for their labor. The magistrate, Mr. McLean, had informed him that criminals and orphans alike were being sent to the West Indies for farming labor.

He wanted to toss up his breakfast. Ewan was only two years old. His sister only four. How could the magistrate allow them to perform hard labor in a foreign country?

He hoped Fiona hadn’t understood the conversation. He should have left them at home but Mrs. Cleary had other duties to attend nor could he trust her to treat the children kindly.

Will looked down at the boy in his arms and he gave him another squeeze. Ewan’s sweet face turned up to Will, his pudgy cheeks tightening in smile. Will’s chest tightened. Would they even survive the journey? Never mind the labor that awaited them? Returning them to the orphanage would be writing their death sentences.

Fiona tapped his hip from her spot next to him. “She’s pretty,” the little girl gushed, staring up at Gemma.

He licked his lips as he assessed Gemma again. Pretty, but dangerous and extremely unpredictable. “Aye, she is. But don’t be fooled by her beauty,” he said, then turned back to the red-haired minx before him. “Where’s my horse?”

He watched her swallow. The delicate column of her neck trembling as her muscles worked. Ah. So she did have a conscious after all.

“In the barn in town,” she said. “I was going to return it.”

“Sure you were,” he answered as he began tugging her toward the barn. “And my money. Were you going to return that?”

She gave a loud sniff. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Then she tried to tug her arm out of her grasp. “I need to see Mr. McLean. I give you my word I’ll return your funds to you after I’m done with my meeting.”