Born in Sin (2 page)

London

Twelve years later

“I
would sooner geld myself. Drunk. With a dull knife.” Sin spoke with a slow, deadly emphasis on each word.

King Henry II stood a few feet away from him without the protection of a bodyguard or other courtier. They were alone in the throne room, and no doubt any other man would be cowering before his monarch. But Sin had never cowered in his life, and Henry knew better than to expect such behavior from him now.

Henry’s face hardened. “I could command it of you.”

Sin cocked one arrogant brow and asked, “Then why don’t you?”

Henry smiled at that, and the tension left his body as he closed the distance between them.

Their friendship had been forged years ago, in the
dark of night, and at the end of a blade pressed deep against Henry’s throat. Sin had spared the king’s life and since that day, Henry had treasured the only man who had never been awed by his power or authority.

Sin answered to no man, be he king, pope, sultan or beggar. But then, there was nothing in life that awed Sin. Nothing in life that commanded him, or touched him. He was completely alone.

And he preferred it that way.

“I didn’t gain this throne by being a fool, Sin. Should I command you to it, I know precisely what you’d do. You’d turn your back on me and head straight for yon door.”

Henry looked sincere. “God’s truth, you are the only man alive I never wish to make my enemy. ’Tis why I ask this as a friend.”

“Damn you.”

Henry laughed. “If I am damned, it is certainly for more serious offenses than this matter.” The humor left Henry’s face and he stared straight into Sin’s eyes. “Now then,
as a friend
, I ask again. Will you marry the Scotswoman?”

Sin didn’t answer. He clenched his teeth so tightly that he could feel the angry tic starting in his jaw.

“Come now, Sin,” Henry said with an almost pleading note in his voice. “I need you in this matter. You know the Scots. You are one of them.”

“I am not a Scot,” Sin snarled. “Not now. Not ever.”

Henry ignored his rebuff. “You know how they think, you know their language. You alone are capable of this. Should I send another, those bloodthirsty savages would no doubt cut his throat and send his head back to me.”

“And you think they wouldn’t do that to me?”

Henry laughed. “I doubt if the Archangel Michael could cut your throat unless you consented to it.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Still, this favor sat ill in Sin’s gut. The last thing on earth he desired was to be shackled to the Scots. He hated everything to do with Scotland and its people, and would sooner rot with pestilence than ever put one piece of his body in Scotland again.

“I promise, my reward will be great,” Henry said.

“I have no need of your money or rewards.”

Henry nodded. “I know. ’Tis why I trust you so much. You’re the only man I have ever known who is truly above bribery. You are also a man of honor, and I know you would never walk away from a friend who needed you.”

Sin met his gaze without flinching. “Henry,
as a friend
, I ask you not to ask this of me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to. I don’t relish the thought of my only true ally so far from me, but I need a man I can trust, one who knows the soul of the Scots people, to lead them. The only other subject who could possibly end this matter is your brother Braden. Since he is now married…”

Sin ground his teeth together. He had been glad to see his brother wed, but how he wished Braden were a bachelor once more. Braden was the one who knew how to please a woman.

Sin knew war. His home the battlefield, all he had ever trusted in life not to betray him were his sword, his shield and his horse.

And he wasn’t any too sure about his horse.

He knew nothing of women and their softness, and he had no wish to know aught of them.

“If it is of any consolation,” Henry added, “she is a fetching wench. You will have no trouble siring a child on her.”

Sin narrowed his eyes. He balked at the thought of siring a child, especially one simply for the purpose of passing on titles and lands that meant nothing to him. “I am not a stallion, Henry.”

“’Tis not what the rumors that circulate through my court say. I’ve heard you’re quite—”

“Does this woman know what you have planned?” Sin asked, cutting him off. He didn’t like discussing anything personal. And most especially not with Henry.

“Of course not. She knows nothing of you. ’Tis not her concern. She is my hostage and she will do as she’s told or I will see her executed.”

Sin rubbed his hand over his face. He had no doubt Henry would do just that. He also knew who would be asked to fulfill that decree. “Henry, you know how I feel about a wife.”

“Aye, I do. But in all honesty, I truly wish to see you wed. I have valued your service, but it has always concerned me that you have nothing in life you value. I have given you lands, wealth and titles, and you spurn them as if they’re poison. All the years I have known you, you have lived with one foot already in the grave.”

“And you think a wife would bring me back over the threshold?”

“Aye.”

Sin snorted. “Then I shall remind you of that the next time you complain of Eleanor.”

Henry laughed so hard he choked. “Were you any other man, you would be dead for such audacity.”

“And I would say the same of you.”

At least it succeeded in checking Henry’s mirth.

Henry paced a small path in front of Sin and fell quiet. By his face, Sin could tell he was thinking of something long ago.

When the king spoke, his voice was thick with nostalgia. “I remember well the night you held that dagger to my throat. Do you remember what you said?”

“Aye, I offered you my loyalty if you would grant me my freedom.”

“Yea, you did. And I need your loyalty now. Philippe is on my heels trying to wrench Normandy and Aquitaine from my hands, my sons are yapping for their own slices of power, and now this Highland clan attacks the few Englishmen I have guarding my northern borders. I cannot continue to be attacked from all sides. Even a raging bull can be brought low by a pack of hungry dogs. And I am tired of it. I need peace before they kill me. Will you help me?”

Inwardly, Sin cringed as he heard the four words he had never been able to deny. Damn his blackened soul for it. It was the one piece of his conscience that hadn’t been destroyed, and Henry knew it.

Sin growled low in his throat. Surely there had to be a means to escape this wretched event. And surely he…

Sin almost smiled as the thought occurred to him.

’Twas perfect, and as insidious as he himself was.

“Aye, I’ll marry the wench, but only if you can find a priest who will sanction it.”

Henry’s face blanched.

Sin smiled evilly. In the last nine years, he had been excommunicated five times. The most recent one carried a papal ban so severe that it should have him roasting out eternity right by the devil’s side.

The pope himself referred to Sin as Satan’s Most Favored Spawn.

Henry would never find a priest who would dare allow Sin to take part in a sacrament.

“You think you have me, don’t you?” Henry asked.

“I think nothing of the sort, Henry. As you said, I know the Scots and know they would accept nothing less than a sanctified marriage. I have merely given you the conditions of our union.”

“Very well, then. I accept your terms and intend to hold you to them.”

“A
re we going to escape this time, Callie?”

Caledonia of the Clan MacNeely pulled her baby brother to a stop in the narrow corridor where they were making their way out of King Henry’s castle.

She knelt beside his little body. “If you’ll be keeping your words to yourself we just might,” she whispered.

Callie smiled to soften her harsh words, and straightened the brown Phrygian cap on his small head. His face still held the baby-fat cheeks and bright, trusting blue eyes of the toddler he had been not all that long ago. “Now, remember, we’re English servants, which means if you open your mouth, they’ll know we’re Highlanders for sure.”

He nodded.

Callie tucked Jamie’s orangish red curls back under his cap. His hair was the same shade as her own. But that was all they shared, for Callie looked like her dearly departed mother and Jamie favored his own mother, Morna.

He looked at her now with blue eyes steeled by determination, and with a sagacity no lad of his tender age should possess. At six years, the boy had seen more than his fair share of tragedy. God willing, he would see no more of it.

She kissed the lovable little demon lightly on the brow and rose to her feet. Her stomach knotted with nerves, she led him slowly down the lone corridor toward the spiral stairs that should exit by the rear of the castle.

At least that was what she’d been told by the maid who had been helping them plot their escape. How she prayed her newfound friend hadn’t lied to her or betrayed her.

They had to get out of this place. Callie could stand no more. If she had to stomach another Sassenach leering at her or making crude comments about her wild Scottish heritage, she would have his tongue for it.

But it was what they did to Jamie that truly made her blood boil. The son of a laird, he was equal to the highest-born of the English. And those beasts made him serve them like the lowliest of peasants while they mocked and belittled him. She could stand no more of her brother’s tears; no more of watching the knights rough-handle the young lad and cuff his ears.

The English were animals!

Ever since King Henry’s men had killed her guards and captured the two of them as they traveled to visit her sickly aunt, Callie had been trying to find a way for them to escape and make their way home.

Yet, for all her careful cunning, these wretched English beasts were truly spawns of the devil. No matter
what she tried, it seemed one of them always saw through her escape and stopped her.

But this time—this time, she would succeed.

She knew it.

Tightening her grip on Jamie’s hand, she paused at the top of the stairs. She pulled back the corner of her linen veil and cocked her head to listen.

Nothing.

It appeared no one was about to challenge them. They were free!

The maid, Aelfa, had promised her that once they left the stairs, the back door opened just a few feet from the postern gate that the servants used during daylight hours to travel from the castle into London. The maid had sworn to her that no one would stop her once she reached it.

Callie’s heart pounded in sweet expectation. She rushed down the dark spiral steps at a breakneck speed, with Jamie one step behind.

Freedom!

She could taste it. She could smell it. She could…

Callie’s thoughts scattered as she tripped and fell over something on the stairs.

She felt her body pitch forward and all she could do was extend her arms in hopes of catching herself. But instead of falling, she felt strong arms wrap about her and pull her against a chest as hard as the dark stone walls surrounding her.

Faster than she could blink, the man released her to stand on the stair above him.

“God’s blood, woman, watch where you’re going.”

Jamie opened his mouth to speak.

Callie quickly covered his mouth with her hand and did her best English accent. “Forgive me, milord.”

It was only then she dared look at him.

Being on the tall side, she was used to standing eye level with most men. But where she expected to see his head, she saw only wide, muscular shoulders encased by darkness.

Her heart pounded. For those were very large shoulders indeed.

Callie frowned at his black clothes. Never before had she seen a man not of the Church dressed all in black. And this man was definitely no priest.

His mail, coif and surcoat, which were darker than pitch, bore no markings on them whatsoever.

How very odd.

She tried to take a step back, but Jamie on the stair behind her and her narrow perch on the step prevented it.

She felt trapped all of a sudden, trapped by the knight’s powerful presence, which seemed to seep into her very bones. This was a dangerous man. A deadly one. She felt it with every instinct she possessed.

She dared to look up his tanned, strong neck, which bore a deep scar, then over his handsome face, to see the eyes of the devil himself. Those midnight-black eyes burned with intelligence and fire. They seared her with an eerie light that made her tremble.

Callie swallowed.

Never had she seen such a man. Without a doubt, he was the fairest of face and form she’d ever beheld. His features were well defined and sculpted, his jaw
strong and perfect and dusted by just a hint of manly stubble.

Hair as black as his clothes fell past his shoulders in the style of her Highland brethren. And as she stared at him, she saw the tiniest of flaws on his face. An almost invisible scar above his left eyebrow.

But it was those black eyes that held her captive. Those deadly eyes, so dark that she couldn’t even see the pupil in them, which terrified her. For they were cold and empty. And worse, they were narrowed on her with far too much interest.

Remembering that she was garbed as a servant and that the man before her was obviously a lord of some standing, Callie decided she had best make a hasty retreat.

She bobbed a quick curtsy to him, grabbed Jamie’s hand and ran down the last few steps and out the door.

Sin frowned at the door as it slammed shut. There had been something very strange about what had just happened. And it wasn’t the powerful, unexpected lust he had felt the moment those green eyes had met his gaze.

Nay, his instincts had been honed from years of training. They were trying to tell him something.

But all he could focus on was the image of the woman’s Cupid’s-bow mouth, and the strange disappointment he felt over not knowing the color of her hair.

Indeed, her light blue veil was an abomination that did nothing for the green of her eyes or the fresh sun-kissed skin of her face.

She had been beguiling.

Captivating.

And refreshingly tall.

Standing well over six feet, he had seldom met a woman so close to his own height. Though she had been a bit too slender for his tastes, her breasts had appeared ample enough to satisfy even his lustful brother Braden.

And her eyes…

Vibrant and warm, they had sparkled with vitality and intelligence. They had…

They had been too bold, he realized with a start. No servant met a lord’s gaze, and most especially not his, with such pride and unyielding directness. She hadn’t cringed from him, which meant she obviously didn’t know who he was.

There could only be one person at King Henry’s court who wouldn’t recognize him.

The Scotswoman.

And she was headed for the back gate.

Cursing, Sin bolted after her.

Callie stopped abruptly as a group of knights came between her and the gate. There were six of the demons, to be sure. Six of them armed from training and on their way into the castle.

Of all her unfortunate luck!

Jamie’s hand trembled in her own. She gave a gentle squeeze to comfort him.

They would simply have to try and brazen it out. Aye, with any good fortune at all, the knights would pay her no heed and would let her pass without thought.

Lowering her gaze, she skirted the men and made for the gate.

“Well, well,” one of the men said as she drew near. “What have we here?”

“A fine serving wench,” another responded. “One to serve our needs finely.”

The others laughed. “Ah, Roger, you truly have a way with words and with the peasants.”

Callie quickened her steps.

One of the men cut her off.

She stopped dead in her tracks and dared a quick look to see the hunger burning in the man’s brown eyes.

“Forgive me, milord,” she said, the title sticking in her throat. It was not in her nature to grovel or cower, and if not for her brother, she wouldn’t deign to do so now.

But she had to get them out of here.

“I’ve work to be aboot.” Callie cringed as she heard her brogue slip.

“Aye, that you do,” he said, his voice low and husky. “And I definitely have a need for you to tend.” He reached down with one hand to adjust the sudden bump in his chausses.

Callie clenched her teeth in frustration. She was caught now. Still, she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

The knight grabbed her and pulled her close for a kiss.

Before his lips could make contact with her own, she kicked him hard in the little bulge he seemed so very proud of.

He let go of her with a curse.

Her only thought survival, Callie seized the hilt of his sword and pulled it free of the scabbard.

The men laughed at her. “You’d best be putting that down before you hurt yourself, little one.”

Callie rotated her wrist and spun the sword expertly around her body. “The only thing I’ll be hurting is one of you.” This time, she didn’t bother disguising her accent. “Now I suggest you remove yourselves from me path.”

The humor left their faces.

One of the braver men unsheathed his sword. They stared at one another for several seconds and she knew the thought in his mind. He assumed her weak. Ineffectual.

Well, she was all woman, to be sure, but her father had seen her well schooled in the art of swordplay. There wasn’t a knight born who would touch a Scot when it came to war. Not even when the Scot was a woman.

“Get her, Roger,” the knight she’d kicked said as he limped his way to the others.

Roger smiled evilly. “Believe me, I intend to.” He licked his lips as he raked a lecherous look over her. “In more than one way.”

He attacked.

With the flair of a seasoned warrior, Callie parried his thrust. If the man wanted a fight, she was definitely the one to give it to him.

“Run, Jamie!” she said to her brother.

He didn’t go far before one of the other knights grabbed him.

Cursing her ill fortune, Callie engaged her enemy. She was one move away from disarming him when a cold, familiar voice gave her pause.

“Drop your sword, milady.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man from the stairs. Yet what stunned her most was the way the other knights reacted to his presence.

They actually shrank away from him.

Roger looked to the black knight and sneered, “Stay out of this. ’Tis no concern of yours.”

The black knight arched a brow. “Given how the lady just humiliated you with the fact she’s the better swordsman, I seriously doubt you want to test my steel.” He gave the man a goading stare. “Or do you?”

She saw the indecision on Roger’s face.

“Let it be, Roger,” one of the knights said. “You know he’d love a chance to kill you.”

Roger nodded slowly, then lowered his sword and stalked off.

Callie turned to face the man who terrified the others. He stood as still as a statue and watched her with a guarded look that betrayed nothing as to his thoughts or mood. The light breeze stirred the tendrils of his black hair and he stared unblinkingly at her.

Aye, he was a deadly one, to be sure. She doubted if old demon Red Cap himself would be more fierce to face.

She held her sword steady.

The black knight smiled coldly. “I see you know how to handle a man’s tool.”

Several of the men snickered.

Her face flushed bright red at his crude comment. “I don’t take kindly to your insults.”

“No insult intended, milady, I assure you. I admire a woman who can hold her own.”

She couldn’t tell if he was sincere or mocking. His body and tone gave her no indication.

“Now drop the sword.”

“Nay,” she said firmly. “Not until my brother and I are free.”

“Milady?” Callie recognized the voice of the maid who had helped her with their disguises. The lass stepped out of the shadow of the castle’s doorway to look at her. “Do as his lordship says, milady. Please, I beg you. You’ve no idea who he is, but take me word for it. The last thing ye be wanting to do is cross his lordship.”

The black knight held his hand out. “The sword.”

For some unknown reason, she almost complied. But one look at Jamie and she knew she couldn’t cede their best chance. She took a step toward the black knight.

She angled her blade straight for his throat, and to her amazement he didn’t budge or flinch. He merely stared at her with those black, soulless eyes. Calm. Patient. Like an adder waiting for its prey to come close enough for it to strike.

She paused.

Then, before she could blink, he stepped forward with an amazing speed, caught the tip of the blade between his forearms, and flipped her sword out of her hands. It arced high into the air, spinning as it fell. He
caught the hilt easily in his hand, then twirled it about once before burying the blade deep in the ground beside him.

His smile was even colder than before. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to tempt the devil unless you were willing to pay his fee?”

Callie’s fingers stung from having the hilt torn from her grasp, but she said nothing. In truth, she didn’t know how to respond. All she knew was that he had defeated her. No one had ever disarmed her before.

And he hadn’t even drawn his own weapon. The humiliation of it stung her deeply.

“Now, what do you think we should do with this scamp?” the knight holding Jamie asked.

“A good whipping should suffice, followed by cleaning out a cesspit or two.”