The Sinner

It felt like a blow to the chest to learn that Glynis believed he would lure a young lass to his bed who was so fearful of men she could not look one in the eye. After knowing him this long—after living with him as his wife—how could Glynis think so little of him?

“I won’t be here when Una brings your child to the castle,” Glynis said, as she slammed a pair of shoes into the chest. “Did ye think I would be happy to care for all your bastards?”

The blood in Alex’s veins went as cold as January ice. “Is that how ye feel about my daughter?”

“Not Sorcha,” Glynis said quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I want a houseful of children reminding me of your infidelities.”

Alex banged the lid of the chest shut with his fist and picked Glynis up by her arms. “I have done nothing wrong, so ye will not leave.”

*  *  *

Alex sat in the hall drinking. From here, he could see the stairs and be sure his wife did not leave the castle without his knowledge. When Bessie started into the hall with Sorcha, she took one look at him and hurried Sorcha outside. The rest of the household showed the good sense to leave him alone as well.

Outrage pounded through Alex’s head, blocking out all else. He had complied with Glynis’s rules, done nothing to merit her accusations and ill regard. If she came down the stairs looking for a servant to carry her trunk to the nearest boat, they were going to have one hell of a fight.

All Alex had wanted was a peaceful home for his daughter. Was that too much to ask? No shouting matches, just a steady woman who wouldn’t throw crockery—and who wouldn’t abandon them. Instead, he had gotten exactly what he did not want: thrown out of his wife’s bed, fighting and shouting, and his wife packing to leave him. He had spent his entire life trying to avoid living as his parents had, only to end up the same.

Hours went by. Alex heard noise coming from down below and suspected the entire household was crowded in the kitchen between the spits and the worktables eating their supper. And still, Glynis did not show her face. At least she had not attempted to leave.

Alex poured the last of his jug of whiskey into his cup and drank it down. Perhaps Glynis regretted her harsh judgment of him—as well she should. She was a prideful woman. Likely, she was stewing up there, gathering herself to apologize to him.

He deserved an apology.

And he was tired of waiting for it. He would go up there now, and they would settle this trouble between them. He marched up the stairs to their bedchamber door and lifted the latch. But when he pushed, the door did not open. He shook the handle, not believing she would do it.

Glynis had barred the goddamned door.

“Glynis!” he shouted as he beat his fist against it. “Open this door to your husband. Now.”

“Go away.” Her voice came faintly through the door.

“Ye will regret this, I swear it.”

Alex never got upset, but he was upset now. Anger pounded through every bone and muscle as he stormed down the stairs, grabbed an axe from the wall, and stomped back up with it.

“Stand back from the door!” he shouted.

Crack! He swung the axe so hard that it reverberated up his arms. Glynis did not scream, proving his wife had ice in her veins.

Crack! Crack! Crack! His violence against the door felt good. When the boards gave way with a satisfying crunch, he reached his arm through the hole and slid the bar back. Then he kicked the door with such force that it swung open and banged against the wall.

And there, sitting on her trunk with her arms crossed, was his wife. He was a wronged husband, an angry man with an axe in his hands, and Glynis glared at him as if she had nothing to fear. She didn’t, of course—but she should have had the good sense to look frightened. Did she not respect him at all?

He crossed the room and stood over her. His chest was heaving, his ears rang. The only sign that an enraged Highland warrior concerned Glynis one whit was a slight twitch in her left eye.

“Ye will not lock our bedchamber door to me again,” he said.

“I told ye,” she said, calm as could be, “I wouldn’t share a bed with ye if ye took another woman.”

“I promised ye I wouldn’t take another woman,” he said, “and I haven’t done so.”

“Ye expect me to believe that?” She stood up, clenching her fists at her sides. “A man like you will say anything.”

“A man like me?” Anger tightened his throat, stretching out his words. “Just what do ye mean by that, Glynis MacNeil?”

“I mean a man whose word means nothing,” she said. “I should have married Lord D’Arcy. He was an honorable man. He would have kept his vows.”

Alex felt as if his head were exploding. Until now, he had believed D’Arcy had told her of his true intentions.

“Perhaps I’ll take D’Arcy up on his offer now,” she said.

“What, and be his whore?” Alex said. “Because that is what D’Arcy was offering ye. He would not have said vows to ye, as I did.”

Upset as Alex was with her, he would not have told Glynis of D’Arcy’s insult even now, except that he couldn’t trust her not to go traipsing off across the breadth of Scotland to find the Frenchman.

“Nay, D’Arcy’s intentions were good,” Glynis said.