The Sinner

Connor grabbed Tait by the back of his shirt as if he were a cat. “Ye know what a joker Alex is.”

But Tait was undaunted. “If Alex said it once, he said it a hundred times: ‘Better to tie an anchor to my leg and toss me into the sea than to tie me to a wife. Better to beat me with a…’”

The sound of Tait’s voice faded as Connor marched him off.

Ian gave Glynis a smile that she was certain had stopped a few lasses’ hearts. “We didn’t have an opportunity to go off with the groom the night before the wedding, as is customary. Do ye mind if we take your husband for a wee bit before we give him to ye for good?”

“Or for bad!” one of the other men called out to another round of laughter.

*  *  *

Married. How had it happened?

Alex took another long pull from the jug of whiskey. From the time he was a wee lad, he’d vowed he’d never do it.

He had a wife. Despite the fact that he’d spent the last fortnight cajoling, charming, seducing, and almost begging Glynis to agree to marry him, it was hard to fathom.

“Be brave,” Ian said, squeezing his shoulder.

“What if I can’t do this?” Alex said, desperation rising in his throat.

“Is it the basic instruction ye need?” Duncan asked with a straight face. “What goes where and such?”

“I don’t mean in bed—I know how to please a woman.” Alex punched Duncan’s arm, then turned to Ian. “It’s all the rest of the time. What do I do with her?”

“Ye do the same as ye always do—the difference is that ye have someone to talk to about it.” Ian grinned. “Whether ye want to talk about it or no.”

Alex took another long drink while the others laughed.

“Glynis seems a good sort,” Connor said. “I’m sure ye have nothing to worry about.”

Worried? He glanced over at Glynis, with Sorcha asleep against her shoulder. He was petrified that he would fail them.

Oh, God, no. Alex closed his eyes as his father pushed Ian aside to sit next to him and put his arm around him. Ge b’e thig gun chuireadh, suidhidh e gun iarraidh. Who comes uninvited will sit down unbidden.

Ian, Connor, and Duncan had sensed he was sinking below the waves and had dragged him to a corner of the hall for a private talk. Alex did not want to speak with anyone else—particularly his father.

“Don’t ever love a woman,” his father said, staring at Alex’s mother across the hall, “or she’ll tear your heart out and feed it to the fish.”

*  *  *

Sorcha yawned and leaned against Glynis’s shoulder. Glynis kissed the top of her head, pleased to have the comfort of the child’s presence. Across the hall, she saw Sileas enter on light feet and come straight toward them.

“Sorcha can sleep with us and our two babes,” Sileas said, holding her hand out to Sorcha. “The twins are already upstairs with their nursemaid.”

“Sorcha isn’t used to strangers—,” Glynis started to say before Sorcha bounded to her feet and took Sileas’s hand.

“It’s your wedding night,” Sileas said with a soft smile. “Sorcha will enjoy being with the twins.”

Glynis felt bereft without her. Alex’s mother came to sit beside her, which was unlikely to cheer her up. His mother must have been beautiful before lines of disappointment etched the skin around her eyes and mouth.

“Alex has a good heart,” his mother said, patting Glynis’s hand. “Unfortunately, he has bad blood from his father.”

His mother was slurring her words. Were all the MacDonalds drunkards?

“To the one man who could tame my wild daughter!” her father shouted across the room, as he lifted his cup high—proving that the MacDonalds had nothing on the MacNeils when it came to drink.

Glynis closed her eyes and wished she were anywhere but at her wedding.

Glynis could tell that the drunker the men became, the more colorful were their stories. Memories of her first wedding swirled through her head and weighed down on her chest. Magnus was not the sort of man to be sensitive about a lass’s first time, and drunk he was worse.

Glynis stood, intent on slipping out of the hall and up the stairs to the bedchamber Ilysa had prepared for them—and barring the door when she got there.

But before she took two steps, one of the men shouted, “Alex, your bride is tired of waiting for ye. Time for the bedding!”

CHAPTER 37

Alex did not remember his wedding night.

God help him, he was a bastard. A useless man. A poor excuse for a husband. And his head hurt like the devil. Oh, Jesus, take me now. What had he been thinking?

His mouth was dry, he had sand in his eyes, and he was still drunk, but he had this blinding headache. And worst of all was the sinking feeling in his stomach that came from knowing he had fooked up badly. As awful as he felt, he rolled over toward his bride, intending to make up for his lack of attention with a bout of morning lovemaking.