The mackenzie regent, p.1
The Mackenzie Regent, page 1
The Mackenzie Regent
Sinclair Jewels
Book Two
Copyright © 2019 Caroline Lee
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Caroline Lee
The Sinclair Jewels Series
The Sinclair Hound
The Mackenzie Regent
The Sutherland Devil
The MacLeod Pirate
*** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***
www.dragonbladepublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Caroline Lee
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
The Highlands, thirteenth century
“Do ye think we’ll ever see her again?”
Agata frowned down at the yellow ochre she was crushing into a fine powder when she answered her sister. “Aye. Donae fash, Pearl will find a way home to us.”
“But how?” Saffy sighed from her spot beside the open window.
Scraping the powder into a small box, Agata hoped their third sister would answer so she could concentrate on her work. The ochre was valuable, and she had no desire to waste any of it because she wasn’t paying attention. Carefully, she used the edge of her knife to ensure the last of the powder moved from the bowl to the box, then she let out a breath.
Straightening, she gave her younger sister her attention. “How, what?” she asked, a little peevishly.
Saffy’s arms were crossed on the windowsill, her chin propped up on them as she stared toward the mountains, clouded in misty rain. “How are ye so sure Pearl will return?”
Agata stretched her back and worked the kinks out of her neck. “Because she loves the Sinclair people more than anything else in the whole world. She’ll find a way back.”
“Becoming a nun is a daft idea, even for her,” muttered normally good-natured Saffy.
There was a snort from the large bed they’d shared for years. Saffy’s twin Citrine was lying there, her feet crossed at the ankles and propped against the wall, her skirts falling well down her legs. Her arms were stacked behind her head as she rolled her eyes at her twin.
“Pearl isnae any closer to becoming a nun than ye or I.”
Saffy didn’t turn when she jerked her thumb toward Agata, the oldest of them. “Aye, we’d make terrible nuns. But Agata considered it once.”
It was true. After David’s death and her return to Sinclair lands, Agata had been lost. Ladies in her position had a purpose in life, and marriage to a powerful laird had achieved that for her. But when he’d succumbed to a fever without fathering a child with her, there was no need for her to remain with the Mackenzies, so she’d returned home.
To someone who valued order and control, it was disconcerting to be so unsure of her place in the world. A nunnery would have given her a place, but it wasn’t the one she wanted.
“I considered it,” she admitted softly. Her gaze dropped to her hands and the smudge of yellow pigment across the pad of her thumb. “But it would be many years afore they’d let me paint.”
Although there were monasteries where the nuns produced beautiful religious icons and manuscripts as well as the monks, they didn’t allow just anyone to paint. If she had managed to talk Da into sending her, she’d be far from home and years away before being entrusted with a brush again.
And she’d have to give up her dream of being Callan’s mother. Even having a place to belong wasn’t worth that price.
“Besides,” she said, absently rubbing at the stain on her thumb, “Da wouldn’t have considered it.”
“He did for Pearl,” Saffy pointed out needlessly.
That morning, they’d said their tearful goodbyes to their youngest sister. Pearl had objected strongly to the marriage alliance Da had made with Laird Sutherland, and demanded to be allowed to remain home.
Da had denied her.
One thing Pearl had never understood was their position in life. Da was the Sinclair, and as such, he needed to maintain strong alliances. With four daughters—known far and wide as the Sinclair Jewels—marriages were the wisest choices. Their duty demanded they be bartered for their clan’s future safety, and Agata had been pleased to fulfill that duty when the Mackenzies had approached Da.
But now… now she wasn’t sure where she stood. She was widowed, but her father had already mentioned another marriage agreement. Part of her was desperate with worry about her future, and the other part didn’t want to know.
What if her future husband was like David?
On the bed, Citrine snorted dismissively again, and Agata was pleased for the distraction.
“You sound like a hog,” she pointed out calmly.
Saffy smothered her laughter as Citrine rolled her eyes.
“Ye’re nae lecturing me on my behavior, are ye?”
Agata reached for the small box of yellow pigment and moved it to her shelf of precious paints. “Absolutely not. I wouldnae think of pointing out yer numerous deficiencies.”
Saffy laughed louder as Citrine pushed herself up on her elbows. As she did so, her skirts dropped further, revealing the knobby knees they all teased her about. Her chin stuck out mulishly as she frowned.
“I might not act like a fancy lady—”
“Or any kind of a lady,” Agata hastened to point out.
Citrine huffed and continued, “—But I have more fun.”
Agata closed her mouth to keep from smiling, and met her sister’s deep, golden gaze. “Aye,” she admitted. “Ye do.”
Citrine nodded forcefully and said, “Donae forget it!” before plopping back down on the bed. In the ensuing silence, Agata stood, wiping down the small desk with a rag, then reaching for her mortar and pestle. She crossed to the ewer of fresh water, moistened the rag, and began to wipe the remains of the yellow powder from the stone.
The sigh from Saffy caught her attention. The twins were younger than Agata and older than Pearl, and although they looked very similar—aside from their eye color—they couldn’t be more different. While Citrine was blunt and brooked no nonsense, Saffy was a dreamer. Citrine spent hours each day training with the men, her short stature more than mitigated by her toned muscles from wielding a sword. But Saffy was happier with an old manuscript, her mind full of stories and songs.
Now, she was back to staring out the window, the late spring air misty.
“’Tis terrible traveling weather,” she whispered, and Agata knew she was thinking of their youngest sister.
“Pearl will be back,” Agata assured her, praying it was true.
From the bed, Citrine hummed in agreement. “O’ course she will. ’Tis why Da sent her with the Hound, so he’d be sure of it.”
Frowning, Agata turned toward the bed. But it was Saffy—obviously intrigued enough to turn away from the mountain vista—who spoke.
“What do ye mean?”
Lying on her back—her feet still propped on the tapestry on the wall—Citrine managed to shrug. “Ye didn’t notice Dougal’s irritation? The Sinclair commander should have been the one to escort one of the laird’s daughters, aye?”
Agata’s lips pulled down. “Ye’re right. Why did Da nae send her to the abbey with Dougal, then?”
Citrine smirked and lifted herself up on her elbows once more. “Because…” She raised one brow suggestively. “He kens how Pearl feels about his Hound. Ye havenae seen the way she watches the man?”
“Really?” Saffy gasped, glancing between her two sisters.
Agata feigned nonchalance as she finished wiping down her tools. “Oh, aye, but who hasnae looked at the Sinclair Hound that way, hmm?” She carefully placed her mortar and pestle beside her pigments and brushes. “The man is brawny.”
“Does he even have a name?” Saffy asked. “The man doesnae speak.”
Her twin tsked. “Who cares if he doesnae speak? As long as his tongue works.”
It took a moment for the meaning of her sister’s lewd joke to set in, but when it did, Agata did her best to hold in the laughter, not wanting to give Citrine the satisfaction. Saffy wasn’t so successful.
“’Tis true! A man who doesnae speak, doesnae make demands, or tell ye what ye can or cannae do!—but still gives ye pleasure…” She sighed dreamily. “’Twould be worth his weight in jewels!”
The image caused Agata to lose her battle. A giggle escaped her, then another, until all three of them were bent over with laughter.
“I want a brawny man who’ll give me pleasure!” Saffy pretended to pout, finally curbing her giggles. She ran a hand down the side of her kirtle If I ask, do ye think Da would arrange such a marriage for me?”
Citrine was still grinning as she swung her bare feet off the bed and leaned forward. “I think we’d need to bargain the lost jewels to be assured of two such matches for his daughters.”
The lost jewels… Something snatched at Agata’s memory, and she wondered what had made her sister think of the missing brooch.
“Besides,” Citrine continued, “Da’s already made his marriage alliances, even if he willnae tell us who we’re to marry. ’Tis the only way to save the clan, at this point.”
Her twin nodded, sobering quickly. “I suppose Agata will be next.”
“She’s been married once, and is the oldest. Da will arrange her marriage quickly.”
The four daughters of Duncan Sinclair had been raised in this very room together. Aside from the months Agata spent as Lady Mackenzie, the girls passed their evenings gossiping and giggling about men, dreams, and irritations. Over the years, they’d turned to their eldest sister for advice and guidance, and Agata had been pleased to lead them wisely. Even in the matter of marriage, she was the most experienced, and had answered their questions about the bedding act in as much detail as they wanted.
But they also knew how close the Sinclair clan was to catastrophe. With only daughters, they’d often discussed who would follow their father as laird. That’s why their marriages were so vital to the clan’s future.
That’s why she prayed bold Citrine was correct, and Agata would be the one married first. She was the oldest Sinclair Jewel, and needed to find her place. She’d been surprised when Da had told her he’d made a match for her less than a sennight ago. As with the twins, he hadn’t yet named her groom, but Agata hadn’t stopped wondering what kind of man chose her, when her younger sisters were still—mostly—pure?
Was he a laird? Or had Da given her to someone else? A warrior? A merchant?
A man like David?
“’Tis unsettling to think of being sold,” Saffy said quietly from her window seat.
Agata forced a smile. “Donae worry. Marriage will bring ye purpose and a place.” Order. A proper future. “And passion. And bairns.” Unconsciously, her hand fell to cover her womb, but she turned the gesture at the last moment and smoothed her gown over her stomach. “’Tis good to be married.”
Citrine didn’t even look at her when she muttered, “Ye’re no’ good at lying.”
Her twin’s clear blue eyes were sad when she nodded to Agata. “Do ye miss wee Callan terribly, Agata?”
Callan.
In the half a year since she’d been widowed, Agata had done an admirable job of returning to her old life, pretending that her time with the Mackenzies was a distant dream. But sometimes at night, she’d remember the feel of small arms around her neck, or sticky kisses on her cheek, or dirty handprints on her gown, and she’d ache to hold the boy again.
She swallowed, knowing her smile had turned brittle. “I ken he’s happy and well cared for, and that’s what matters. His uncle will…” The words caught in her throat. Truthfully, she knew nothing about David’s younger brother, only that her husband had thought him a disappointing wastrel.
Callan was only seven years old, and as David’s son, was destined to be the next laird. But he had many years before he’d be able to rule. Agata knew David’s aunt would ensure the boy was safe and happy, and with Callan’s uncle acting as regent until the lad came of age, everything would be fine with the Mackenzies.
So why did her heart ache to think of Callan growing up without her?
Saffy’s eyes were full of pity and her smile was false when she nodded. “Oh, aye. The wee lad will be fine. And soon ye’ll have the chance to be a mother again.” She shot her twin a glare. “Right, Citrine? Da will make good matches for his Jewels?”
But rather than reassure her, Citrine frowned down at the rushes. “Oh, aye,” she mimicked. “Nothing but the best for the Sinclair Jewels.”
The jewels… why were they thinking of them? Agata frowned in thought, her gaze darting around their chamber. What had made her remember?
She gasped out loud as her attention fell on a bundle of material atop Pearl’s chest.
Her sisters watched as Agata hurried across the chamber, reaching for the things Pearl had left with them yesterday evening. Their youngest sister was always helping someone in the village or visiting clan members. She made a point of bringing food and companionship to those who were sometimes forgotten, including Elspeth, their old nurse. Yesterday, Pearl had visited the woman’s cottage, then returned for the evening meal before going to Da’s solar to deliver her ultimatum.
But before she’d gone, she’d given Agata this bundle from Elspeth. At the time, Agata had only glanced at it, too distraught at the thought of Pearl leaving to really notice it, but now…
“Ah!” she declared triumphantly as she held aloft the old tapestry. “The jewels!”
Saffy was beside her in a moment. “No…” she breathed softly, reaching for the image. “I donae believe it.”
Her fingers hovered above the threads, and Agata saw them tremble slightly.
“Impossible,” Citrine stated definitively. “The jewels have been missing for generations.”
“And this tapestry looks at least that old,” Saffy whispered reverently.
While Agata knew paints, Saffy was the scholar of the sisters, and if she said these threads were that old, Agata would believe her. Gently, she draped the small tapestry across her forearm, and crossed to the bed. Citrine stepped out of the way, but when Agata placed the piece of material down, she felt her sisters peering over her shoulders.
“Beautiful,” Saffy breathed.
It was. The tapestry was no larger than one of Agata’s paintings, but full of color. The clan name had been woven in blues and greens across the top, and in the center…
In the center was a bright green circle containing four smaller circles, arranged at the cardinal points. Decorative scrollwork was picked out in dark threads, delineating each sphere. The circle at the top was brown, intricately stitched to show shades ranging from sable to topaz. The circle to the right was a bright blue, the same color as the “S” in “Sinclair,” while the bottom one was a yellow dark enough to be called gold. The fourth circle was a beautiful white, which seemed to shimmer gray, despite the age of the threads.
Agata exhaled softly. She’d glimpsed the image when Pearl had handed it to her, but had been too distracted to realize what it meant. “The jewels,” she whispered.
Generations ago, the pride of the Sinclair treasury had gone missing. Elspeth had always told them the Sinclair line would end if the jewels remained lost, and only the bravest and worthiest of the Sinclair warriors would be able to restore the jewels and the clan’s power.
Most of them had thought it a myth, but their mother hadn’t.
Citrine leaned around Agata and pointed to each of the circles in turn, careful not to actually touch the ancient tapestry. “Agate. Sapphire. Citrine. Pearl,” she finished grimly. Then she stabbed one finger toward the outer circle. “And malachite?”
The stones were all from the highlands. When each of her daughters had been born, their mother had named them for the colors of their eyes. Agata’s eyes were a dark brown with gold flecks. Saffy’s were a bright blue, Citrine a pale brown, and Pearl, a blue so light it seemed gray.
The sisters had always known they were named for Highland jewels, and it was where the silly tradition of calling them the Sinclair Jewels had begun. But knowing they were named for the jewels in the missing Sinclair brooch, and seeing the brooch, were entirely different matters.
“Is that… us?” Saffy whispered.
Citrine made a noise somewhere between disgust and disbelief, and spun away. Agata’s hand found Saffy’s as they watched their sister stomp across the chamber and back, her bare feet slapping against the stone and rushes.
“If Mother named us after some stones in an old brooch, did that mean she’d seen the jewels?” Citrine demanded, clearly not expecting an answer. “Or had she just seen this daft—” She waved her hand irritably toward the tapestry on the bed, her jaw working as she tried to find the right word. Finally, she ended with an angry, “Bah!”
