sigh as she thought about the handsome, dark-haired man who appeared at court every few months. She didn’t envy him his lengthy rides south from Dunrobin. The keep was along the northeastern coast of Scotland, almost as far north as that of the Sinclairs, and marriage linked the two clans. Arabella had long admired Lachlan’s easygoing nature and protectiveness of his sisters. The three siblings were extremely close, and both Maude and Blair had looked forward to his visits. Arabella knew Lachlan looked for excuses to see them. She couldn’t help the sadness she felt when she realized Lachlan would rarely make the long trip to court once Blair left.
“I’m almost done,” Blair said as she bent to pull up her stockings and slip on her shoes. She disliked wearing stockings, so she put them on last.
Arabella thought about her other friends who had left over the past three years. Nearly all her original friends were gone, one after another marrying and leaving court.
A Sinner at the Highland Court BOOK 8 SNEAK PEEK
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. How can he do this to me? How could he pick her over me? That fat sow. Kieran will regret this till the day he dies. He and she both. This is her fault. All her fault. I hate her too.
Madeline MacLeod felt the four walls of her tiny convent cell closing in upon her. Her brother, Kieran, had dragged her from Robert the Bruce’s royal court at Stirling Castle and dumped her at Inchcailleoch Priory earlier that week. She refused to accept that any of her words or actions had caused her fall from grace. She’d only spoken the truth each time she told Maude Sutherland how unconventionally curvaceous she was. Why her brother wanted to marry a woman who looked more like a tavern wench than a lady was beyond Madeline.
He just wants a good rut. He’ll realize what a dreadful mistake he’s made when he takes her home to Stornoway. He will realize that tupping her won’t be worth the humiliation of having such a plain-faced, round as a barrel, heifer for a wife. He could have had Laurel Ross!
As Madeline listened to the bells toll for yet another Mass, she grimaced. All she seemed to do was pray these days, but God certainly wasn’t listening because she remained at the priory despite her fervent appeals. She kneeled among the other novices, postulants, and nuns eight times throughout the day and night as they followed the Liturgy of Hours. The bells in the background signaled Prime, so she knew it was still very early. She’d already attended Matins in the middle of the night and Lauds at sunrise.
Madeline glanced out the narrow window set high in the wall, thinking that the masons must have designed it so the women couldn’t escape. The sunlight, weak and dismal, matched Madeline’s mood. When she lived at court, six o’clock in the morning was an hour she’d never seen. Now that she lived at the convent, she’d already been awake for an hour and a half.
Madeline dragged herself from her cot and her introspection. She could feel her anger simmering below the surface, and if she wanted to avoid another outburst—which would result in two days of wearing a hair shirt for penance — she would do well to calm herself. She splashed freezing water from the washbasin onto her face. It was refreshing, but it only reminded her of the austerity she now faced daily. Already dressed in her postulant’s dark gray gown, she’d tucked her roughly shorn hair beneath her wimple, and a large wooden cross hung around her neck. The undyed wool of the dress made her skin itch, and it chafed the open cuts upon her back. But it was far better than the hair shirt they forced her to wear the third day she arrived. She’d lashed out at another postulant who bumped into her as they entered their pew. The postulant was formerly a lesser noble, and Madeline reminded her that she, Madeline, was the sister of a laird and a former lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth de Burgh. Madeline’s voice carried, but the other woman was more discreet in her own set-down, as she pointed out that Madeline’s brother was the one to banish her from court.
The Clan Sinclair
His Highland Lass BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK
She entered the great hall like a strong spring storm in the northern most Highlands. Tristan Mackay felt like he