“You just missed yer wife.” Gavin greeted him with a hearty handshake and backslap as Sin climbed down from his mount. “She left here nae ten minutes ago.”
Sin dropped his horse’s reins, knowing the animal wouldn’t wander far. He rolled his shoulders. “She must have returned by way of Inver. I didn’t pass her. How fares your experiment?”
“It’s too early to tell, but I have nae doubt that your wife will get the right end of it.” He shook his head. “She’s a clever one.”
Sin pulled in a deep breath. That she was.
If only— Sin cut off that ungrateful thought. Her lack of love was just something he’d have to work on.
Gavin shifted. “She also might be a wee bit upset that you dinnae tell her about yer ball.” He stared down at his boots. “I might have made mention of it to her.”
Sin sighed. “It wasn’t a secret; I just hadn’t gotten around to telling her.” They had been politely avoiding each other since his declaration of love. An awkwardness descending over their marriage that he didn’t know how to alleviate.
His friend’s expression clouded. “Did you also nae pass that friend of hers, MacConnell? He was here, too.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He narrowed his gaze on his friend, trying to read it. “And? What did he have to say for himself?”
Gavin shrugged and picked a hoe from the ground. “His usual nonsense.” But he hesitated, and Sin’s hackles raised further.
“There’s more.” Sin gripped his hips. “What is it? Do you think he is finding success rousing my tenants to rebellion?”
“No.” Gavin ran his hand up the back of his head. “I mean, there has been some talk, but I think for the most part yer people are loyal to ye, and therefore the union betwixt the countries. But that wasn’t what worries me.”
Sin was losing his patience. “Well, what does?”
“The way he was looking at Lady Winnifred.”
Sin flexed his fingers, his knuckles cracking. “How did he look at my wife?” His voice was low. Deadly. It matched the way he felt. If that little pus bucket had done anything to insult his wife, his life was forfeit.
Gavin flushed. “Well, Lady Winnifred had some choice words of her own which MacConnell didn’t take kindly to. He made some mention that women like her used to have their tongues cut out and— bugger, where are ye going?” He leaned on the handle of his tool. “Ye only just arrived.”
Sin swung into his saddle. Any thoughts of sharing a mug of ale with his friend evaporating. “In which direction did he go?”
“Now, Dunkeld, there’s no need to go rushing—”
“Which. Direction?”
Gavin pointed west down the lane. “He’s most like at Farmer Beattie’s house. He seems to have a route he likes to travel while proselytizing for independence.”
Nodding at his friend, Sin kicked his heels into his mount. He tore down the drive, his blood thundering in his veins. He leaned forward in his saddle, anticipation nipping at his heels.
This. This was what he needed. Something, or someone, to beat his feelings out upon. And the man who threatened his wife made the ideal vessel on which to vent his spleen.
He didn’t find MacConnell at the Beattie cottage, nor at the Clacher’s. But the sway-back stride of the man’s donkey greeted him past the MacGregor home.
Coming even with him, Sin reached down, grabbed the man by the back of his starched collar, and flung him to the ground. He jumped off his horse, his boots landing inches from MacConnell’s fingers.
“What the bloody hell are ye on about?” MacConnell pressed to his hands and knees, and Sin assisted him by planting the top of his boot under his collar bone and flipping him to his back.
“Haven’t you heard it isn’t polite to curse in front of your betters?” He stalked in a circle around his prey.
The bounder’s face grew blotchy with rage. He spat into the dirt. “An English title doesn’t make you my better. Ye should hang yer head in shame that yer family sold their pride to the Sassenach for a powerless marquessate.” He climbed to his feet, and Sin allowed it. “Ye think the English respect their Scottish peers? Yer a laughingstock to them. Nothing more than a useful poppet. And ye betray us every time ye cooperate with the invaders.”
Sin shot his hand out and gripped the pup’s neck. So slender. So easy to snap. “Strip me of my title and I am still your better in every conceivable way. But my cooperation with the English, as you call it, is not why you’re to receive a pummeling. Did you truly think you could threaten my wife without consequences?” He shook the man, satisfaction curling through him as the color drained from the arsehole’s face.
“I meant nothing.” He clawed at Sin’s fingers. “I could never hurt Winnie.”
Sin growled. “Lady Dunkeld to you.”
“I meant nothing.” MacConnell gasped, his eyes wide, imploring, and Sin tossed him away in disgust. The broken bones and bloodied face he’d envisioned weren’t to be. Beating such a pathetic excuse for a man went against all that Sin believed in.
Clenching his hand, he slammed his fists into the man’s stomach, and MacConnell dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Sin cracked his neck. He couldn’t let the sot get off completely free. “Get up.” He toed the man’s thigh. He’d pulled his punch to half power, and the blow had done nothing to alleviate the itch between his shoulder blades.
MacConnell coughed, spittle hanging from his mouth.
“Good Lord.” Sin planted his hands on his hips. “And you expect to lead the rebellion? One punch and you’re mewling like a wee kitten.” Crouching by the fallen man, he grabbed his chin and forced MacConnell to look at him. “You have no idea what battle looks like. You rouse our people into fights and riots, and you skulk in the shadows, with naught but a stiff prick to contribute. Does the sight of other people’s blood excite you?” Sin dropped his chin and wiped his hand on his trouser leg. “You deserve a sound thrashing. To feel the pain of a true beating. Perhaps then you’d understand the harm you’ve wrought.”
MacConnell swiped his sleeve under his nose. “Yer wrong. The people of Scotland will revere my name. There are only a few of us brave enough to finally break our chains of servitude. We’ll be remembered.”
Sin stilled. “Names.”
MacConnell pushed up to rest on his palms. “What?”
“What are the names of these few patriots?” When MacConnell pressed his lips tight together, Sin said, “I will have them. I’m done being polite with you. You will give me the names of your fellow conspirators or …”
“Or what?” MacConnell tilted his chin up, trying, and failing, to look brave.
Sin lifted one shoulder. “There really is no ‘or’. With enough pain, every man can be brought to the point where he’d spill all his secrets.” He looked MacConnell up and down. “Sadly, I don’t think your point will take all that long to reach.”
He grabbed the man’s shirt with his left hand, pulled his right one back.
MacConnell threw his arms up in front of his face. “Abercairn!”
“What?” Sin dropped his hand, disappointment making him frown. He would hold the most cowardly Scot to ever live in his grips when his need for violence was running high. He pushed MacConnell’s chest away in disgust and stood.
“Lord Abercairn asked for my help in getting the public to lay their grievances at the feet of the English.” He scuttled backwards, out of the range of Sin’s boots. “He gave me the blunt to pass around to a couple well-placed blokes to start the first fights. People need to be angry in order to act. I was only lighting the match.”
“And hiding when the powder keg blew.” Sin shook his head. “Why would Abercairn want rebellion? He’s always supported the union in Parliament. Hell, he and the Duke of Beaumont are friends. He wouldn’t try to have him killed.”
“I dunnae know anything about the assassination attempt.” Warily, MacConnell struggled to his feet. The way his gaze slid to the left led Sin to disbelieve his statement. “Perhaps Abercairn isnae as comfortable with the yoke of ownership as the rest of ye lot appear to be. Perhaps he never intended Beaumont to actually get hurt. I cannae tell you his reason.” He smirked. “I can tell ye there’s nothing ye can do to stop us. The stone is already rolling down the hill and ye’d best stay out of its way or else—” He clapped his hands together.
Sin snorted. “Spare me your attempts at intimidation. They only make me feel bad for you.” He glared at the man. “What is your next task? Raising another mob to beat each other black and blue? Inciting my tenants to storm the castle?”
MacConnell scowled. “I am to do nothing more than talk to my people, make them realize that our current system does nothing but enrich England; and its toad-eaters,” he added with a pointed look at him.
Sin considered. If he were running such an operation, he wouldn’t divulge to his lackies any more information than was necessary to perform their immediate duties. MacConnell most likely knew little more. And once he informed Liverpool of this latest bit of intelligence, the prime minister would ensure that MacConnell had told them everything. Liverpool was thorough.
“I pity Winnifred.” MacConnell’s thin chest heaved. “Forced to marry such a man. She’s too good for ye.”
Sin’s fingers twitched at his wife’s name on the shit sack’s tongue. He reconsidered his lenience remembering the indecent offer the man had once made to her. The idea of MacConnell touching her made Sin want to relocate the man’s front teeth to the back of his throat.
But he was right. Winnifred was too good for him.
“If I catch you on my land again, I’ll have you detained. Either with the local constabulary, or in my dungeon.” His grin was all teeth. “There will be no more allowances; no further warnings.” Sin stomped to his horse and swung into the saddle. “I’ll give you an hour to vacate my estate. You’ll need forty-five minutes of it to hunt down your ride.”
MacConnell whipped his head from left to right, and sucked in a gasp when he caught sight of his donkey. A quarter of a mile distant. He took off running, waving his arms wildly and baying like a stuck pig for the animal to stand in place.
Sin turned his horse and prodded him to a canter. Thank all that was holy his sensible wife hadn’t seen fit to form an attachment to such an unworthy fool. If he’d met her later, on that lout’s arm, by any other man’s side ….
He kicked his horse into a gallop.
The thought was intolerable. She might think only their marriage vows bound them, but he knew better. Every bone in her body, every inch of her flesh, belonged to him. His possession far surpassed archaic legalities. Dove deeper even than love. Their connection was primitive. Elementary.
And if he had to mark every inch of her to convince her of that simple fact, he would.
He might not deserve her, but he had Winnifred all the same.
And he would use that privilege to press every advantage available.