Page 1 of Sins of a Scot
BONUS PROLOGUE
Two months before…
The tavern was dark and grubby, not unlike its occupants. Owen Sinclair knew he was in the company of dangerous men, but this was the last place on his list before he would return to his father, Laird Madigan Sinclair, with his report. Which, so far, would say nothing at all, for though he had been scouting for information about a possible plot to attack the clan, it appeared it was just another rumor, likely started by some disgruntled tenant.
He had been playing cards with three men who, he had been told, might know something, but apart from losing some coin, he had discovered nothing of interest.
As the evening drew to a close, Owen was ready to call it a night, when one of the men, George was his name, let something slip.
“We need tae get back and check on the lass,” George slurred.
“Och, dinnae talk such rubbish,” John slurred back. “She’s tied up. She’s nae going anywhere.”
All of them had drunk far too much, and while Owen had pretended to keep up with them, much of his ale had been sneakily poured onto the floor beside his feet. It was a tactic he had learned over the years.
At their words, his ears pricked up, for clearly the men he already knew to be unsavory were far worse than he had originally thought.
“I’d be happy tae leave her tae rot,” Seamus grunted, taking another slug of whisky. “She’s been naething but trouble since we took her.”
“Aye, but then all the effort would be fer naught,” John argued. “We’ll get nay coin fer a dead girl.”
Owen knew this was not his mission, and yet, at the idea of a lass being held captive against her will, he just couldn’t help but get involved. He needed to be careful, however, for by the looks of these men, they would have no qualms in slicing his throat.
“Ye’re selling a lass?” he asked, trying not to let his disgust show.
Seamus eyed him carefully. “What dae ye care?”
Though it made him sick to his stomach, Owen played one of his many roles, and smiling evilly, he said, “I have lots of uses fer a young lass.”
John beamed a grin. “Aye, I bet ye dae,” he chuckled loudly.
“Where did ye get her?” Owen said. “Is she in good health? I dinnae want her if she’s going tae die on me in a month.”
The men, seeing that Owen was serious, glanced at each other across the table. Clearly, they were nervous, but at the same time, Owen had deduced that they were eager to rid themselves of her.
“How much would ye be willing tae pay?” George demanded, or tried his best at least in such a drunken state.
“That depends on what state she’s in. Where did ye get her? Is she a woman o’ the night?”
The men began cackling between themselves, as though Owen had said something funny. When they settled, Seamus looked about him, though there was little need given that they were the only ones remaining in the bar. He then leaned forward and in a hushed whisper he said, “We stole her from her parents. She was out working in the field when we saw her. She’s a fine-looking lass, and we kent, as soon as we seen her, that she’d bring us some good coin.”
“Where is she?” Owen asked.
The men were sketchy with their answer, but in the end, they agreed a price and made an arrangement to meet the following day at noon.
“Ye bring yer coin, and we’ll bring the girl.”
“I’ll nae part with me hard-earned coin until I see her, so ye better hold up yer side o’ the bargain,” Owen said plainly.
“And ye hold up yers,” Seamus returned.
The following day, Owen was standing and waiting at the agreed place when he heard horses approaching. The three men arrived, all looking worse for wear after their drunken night. Seamus clambered down from his horse, and with no kindness, he yanked the lass down who had been riding behind him.
She stumbled when her feet hit the ground, and with her hands bound in front of her, she had no way to stop herself falling flat on her face.
“Get up, will ye?” Seamus said, grabbing at her and pulling her upright.
It was only then that Owen managed to get a good look at her. Shock rippled through his body, though he had to swallow it, for the lass was far younger than he had imagined. She couldn’t have been more than four and ten. Her clothes hung on her body, she was filthy, and she shook with terror.
