The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (46 page)

For
now.

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* * *

Ready for more of the Jewels
of Kinfairlie?

Read on for a taste of

THE ROSE RED BRIDE,

the second book in

the Jewels of Kinfairlie trilogy.

Or return to the Table of
Contents.

* * *

Excerpt from THE ROSE RED BRIDE ©2005, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

Kinfairlie,
on the east coast of Scotland - August 1421

Alexander
congratulated himself upon a matter well concluded. Although the marriage of
his eldest sister Madeline had not begun auspiciously, his solution had
ultimately proven to be a good one. Just as he had predicted, Madeline was
wedded and happily so, all the more content for the babe already rounding her
belly. Though Alexander had not located Rhys FitzHenry by any conventional
means of matchmaking, the man who had bought Madeline’s hand at auction had
proven to be an excellent spouse.

All
had ended well, and Alexander was inclined to grant himself credit for that happy
fact. A man had to find encouragement where he could. There was little else
that stood to Alexander’s credit at Kinfairlie and he often felt overwhelmed by
the burden of his hereditary holding.

Alexander
stared out the window at Kinfairlie’s fields, frowning that they were not more
lushly green. The crop was slightly better than his castellan had predicted,
but not sufficiently good enough. Though his sister Madeline was wedded, his
brother Malcolm was training at Ravensmuir and his other brother Ross was
training at Inverfyre, there remained four unwed sisters for whom Alexander was
responsible. The castellan had been firm in his counsel that there must be
fewer mouths at the board for the winter.

The
fields offered a telling reminder. Alexander would still have to see his sister
Vivienne, the next eldest after Madeline, married before the snow flew.

Sadly,
Vivienne was not proving to be any easier to wed than her elder sister Madeline
had been. Vivienne was willing to wed, but she wished to feel affection for her
spouse before her nuptials were celebrated. Indeed, she wished to be in love.
Alexander was certain they had visited every man in Christendom to no avail. He
might well roar if Vivienne met his gaze and gave that minute shake of her head
one more time.

Though
Alexander would prefer for Vivienne to be happy, August was already upon them.
Soon he would be compelled to take matters into his own hands.

Alexander
sighed and buried himself in the accounts of the estate, hoping to discover
that matters were slightly better than he knew them to be. He did not have
sufficient time to become bored with the tedium of checking tallies before a
rap sounded upon the wooden portal.

Anthony,
Kinfairlie’s elderly castellan, cleared his throat when Alexander did not
immediately respond. “A gentleman to see you, my lord. He begs an audience in
privacy at your earliest convenience.”

Alexander
was intrigued, for guests seldom arrived unbidden at Kinfairlie and even less
frequently insisted upon privacy. “Has he a name?”

“Nicholas
Sinclair, my lord.” Anthony sniffed as Alexander started in surprise at the
familiar name. “I am dubious of his character, my lord. No man of merit
whispers his name and hides his face within the shadows of his hood.”

Alexander
sat back in astonishment. “But Nicholas Sinclair was the very man who courted
Vivienne some years ago!”

Anthony
straightened in disapproval. “I believe as much, sir, though the Sinclair men
are rogues indistinguishable each from the other. They are said to be of Viking
lineage, my lord, which gives them little credit.” He apparently noted
Alexander’s interest in this new arrival and cleared his throat again.
“Although I admit that is solely my own opinion, sir. There are those, often
women, I have heard, who find a certain allure in Sinclair men.”

What
had gone awry between Nicholas and Vivienne? Alexander could not recall.
Indeed, he might never have known. He had not paid much attention to Vivienne’s
loss of a suitor, for in those days, such matters had not been his concern.

“I
should be delighted to see Nicholas Sinclair,” he said, noting that Anthony was
taken aback by his vigor. Alexander smiled, for he had come to enjoy surprising
his very proper castellan. “Bring him to me with all haste, if you please, and
some ale as well.”

“Ale,
sir?” Anthony’s silver brows rose high. “Are you certain it is wise to make a
Sinclair so welcome?”

“Ale,
Anthony, to be sure.” Alexander spoke with the firmness he had learned to use
with his opinionated castellan. “A guest is a guest, no matter his name.”

Anthony
cast a glance over the accounts, spread over the table before his liege lord,
and his lips pinched yet more tightly. “I would suggest that your affairs not
be so displayed, my lord. The Sinclairs have a reputation for coveting what is
not their own.”

“I
have had my fill of the accounts at any rate,” Alexander said, then began to
put the books away as the castellan left. He rolled scrolls tightly and
refastened their ribbons, storing all carefully in a trunk.

The
table before him was bare when a tall, cloaked man entered the chamber. The man
limped, favoring his left leg, but strode with vigor all the same. As Anthony
had noted, the man kept his hood raised, and his face was in shadow.

Alexander
turned, his curiosity keen. “Nicholas Sinclair?”

The
man nodded curtly. “Good day to you. I thank you for this courtesy.” Nicholas
offered his hand and Alexander shook it. It was a large hand, tanned and
roughened, the hand of man well familiar with the weight of a blade. Nicholas’
grip was no less sure than Alexander might have expected. His manner was
purposeful and confident, and Alexander could not help but think that a man
resolutely of this world might be a good partner for his sister who loved
whimsical tales.

Alexander
made to take his seat once more and gestured to the bench opposite. “I confess
to a certain curiosity about your arrival here.”

The
other man pushed back his hood, then sat upon the bench. Alexander struggled to
hide his shock. He blinked, he glanced down at his own hands to school his
expression, then he looked his guest squarely in the eyes again.

Nicholas
Sinclair watched him shrewdly and Alexander knew that his discomfiture had been
noticed. “It was not my intent to startle you,” he said, though Alexander
suspected this was not perfectly true.

No
man could fail to be startled by the scar that ran from temple to chin on the
left side of Nicholas’ face. It was a puckered angry scar, one so vehement that
Alexander was certain he would have remembered if it had been there before, one
so angry a red that he suspected it was newly won.

Truth
be told, Alexander could not recall Nicholas over well, though the man looked
vaguely familiar beyond the scar. Nicholas was tall enough to tower over
Alexander, and was more broad of shoulder. His coloring did hint at some Viking
blood in his veins, for his hair was fair and would have fall straight his
shoulders, had it not been tied back with a leather lace. His eyes were a
striking clear blue. He was tanned and muscled, and would have been
sufficiently handsome to snare the eye of any maiden, at least before he had
gained that scar.

“I
apologize, for I am a man of blunt speech,” Nicholas said. “I come to make my
suit for Vivienne’s hand.”

Alexander
found this man’s arrival too convenient to be readily believed. He had learned
some caution in arranging the match of Madeline and the hard edge in Nicholas’
tone would give any man pause. “I had understood that you and Vivienne had
ceased your courtship some years ago.”

Nicholas
averted his gaze. “Due to my folly alone.”

“If
you believed as much, then why did you not return sooner?”

“I
had no home to offer a bride.” If anything, Nicholas looked more grim at this
detail.

“I
remember this matter now,” Alexander said, shaking a finger at his guest as his
recollection returned. His father and Vivienne had argued heatedly about the
folly of wedding a man who was unlikely to inherit property. Though Nicholas’
name had not been mentioned, Vivienne had defied her father with such spirit
that all had known the question to be of import to her.

And
if memory served Alexander well, the ardent Nicholas had disappeared from
Kinfairlie shortly thereafter. He nodded at his guest. “You had an older
brother who would inherit afore you, did you not? Erik was his name.”

A
shadow touched the other man’s features. “Erik Sinclair was disavowed. Nicholas
stands laird of the Sinclair lands at Blackleith now.”

There
was no shortage of bitterness in the guest’s tone, and though Alexander thought
his reference to himself was oddly stated, there was no denying the lilt of the
Highlands in his guest’s voice. Perhaps the man was less accustomed to speaking
English than Gaelic, and in Gaelic, the statement would have passed unnoticed.

Alexander’s
gaze strayed unwillingly to the other man’s scar and he wondered what had
passed between the brothers to cause such a disavowal and such bitterness.
There was no good way to inquire after such a delicate matter, and what
difference truly, if Alexander could ensure that Vivienne wed the man she
desired and lived comfortably as well?

If
the courtship had ended because of Nicholas’ lack of an inheritance, she would
certainly be delighted to wed him now that he possessed one.

In
fact, a lingering affection for this very man might be the reason that she
found no other suitor appealing. Madeline had certainly had a similar reason
for finding all suitors lacking, and Alexander was striving to learn as much as
he could with regards to understanding and pleasing his sisters.

He
had three more to see wed after Vivienne, after all.

Nicholas
continued with determination. “It is time I claim a bride and my choice is
Vivienne.”

Alexander
found his reservations melting. This man had faced formidable obstacles, it was
clear, and still he was wounded by whatever had riven his family. He could well
imagine that Nicholas had never forgotten Vivienne, for though she was his own
sister, he was well aware of her abundant charm. Her merry manner and optimism
might be just the balm this man needed.

Perhaps
his affection for Vivienne had been the one hope that had sustained him in the
face of such trials.

The
more Alexander considered the match, the more he liked its prospect. He asked
after the revenue of Blackleith and its location, as a matter of responsibility,
though such details were of less importance than his sister’s happiness. He was
reassured that Nicholas seemed to know fully the details of his holding, the
number of tenants and amount of land, the annual tithes and what was yet to be
done. Here was a responsible baron, to be sure.

“You
need not doubt the weight of my purse,” Nicholas said in conclusion. He removed
a sack that jingled as he set it upon the table. He shoved it across the
expanse of wood toward Alexander. “And I am prepared to show compense to you
for seeing my suit successful in short order.”

Alexander
stared at the sack of coins, guessing that Kinfairlie’s salvation was within
it. He lifted the sack, as if less concerned with its contents than he was, and
peered inside. His heart leapt at the quantity of silver coin, though he kept
his features impassive. This would see them all through the winter, and let him
take his leisure in wedding his three younger sisters.

“You
seem anxious for haste,” he said, noting the sole detail that troubled him. An
honest man has no need to rush, Alexander’s father had often said, and
Nicholas’ urgency made him suspicious.

“What
man would not desire speed when the yearning of his heart is clear?” Nicholas
smiled, though his lips seemed so unfamiliar with forming that curve that it
looked more like a grimace. “I grow no younger. I have dallied overlong over
this matter and would see it resolved. A man must seize the moment when the
Fates favor his course.”

“You
have a scheme.” Alexander did not let his hand close over the coin, not yet.

“I
would not linger over banns and betrothals.”

“What
then?”

Nicholas
frowned, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows upon the table. His eyes shone
a vehement blue, which told Alexander the vigor of his intent. “I would capture
my intended in the night, consummate our match, then be wed in the morning.”