Return to Clan Sinclair Read Free

she had Carlton to think of. How horrible would it be for Macrath and Virginia to return from Edinburgh to find she’d been present at the death of their child?
    The darkness was nearly absolute, leaving her no choice but to stretch her hands out on either side of her, fingertips brushing against the stone walls. The incline was steep, further necessitating she take her time. Yet at the back of her mind was the last image she had of Carlton, his bright impish grin turning to horror as he glanced down.
    The passage abruptly ended in a mushroom-­shaped cavern. This was the grotto she’d heard so much about, with its flue in the middle and its broad, wide window looking out over the beach and the sea. She raced to the window, hopped up on the sill nature had created over thousands of years and leaned out.
    A naked man reached up, grabbed Carlton as he fell. After he lowered the boy to the sand, he turned and smiled at her.
    C arlton was racing across the beach, glancing back once or twice to see if he was indeed free. The rope made of sheets was hanging limply from his window.
    The naked man was standing there with hands on his hips, staring at her in full frontal glory.
    She hadn’t seen many naked men, the last being her husband. The image in front of her now was so startling she couldn’t help but stare. A smile was dawning on the stranger’s full lips, one matched by his intent brown eyes. No, not quite brown, were they? They were like the finest Scottish whiskey touched with sunlight.
    Her gaze danced down his strong and corded neck to broad shoulders etched with muscle. His chest was broad and muscled as well, tapering down to a slim waist and hips.
    Even semiflaccid, his manhood was quite impressive.
    The longer she watched, the more impressive it became.
    What on earth was a naked man doing on Macrath’s beach?
    To her utter chagrin, the stranger turned and presented his backside to her, glancing over his shoulder to see if she approved of the sight.
    She withdrew from the window, cheeks flaming. What on earth had she been doing? Who was she to gawk at a naked man as if she’d never before seen one?
    Now that she knew Carlton was going to survive his escape, she should retreat immediately to the library.
    â€œYou’d better tell Alistair his brother’s gotten loose again. Are you the new governess?”
    She turned to find him standing in the doorway, still naked.
    She pressed her fingers against the base of her throat and counseled herself to appear unaffected.
    â€œI warn you, the imp escapes at any chance. You’ll have your hands full there.”
    The look of fright on Carlton’s face hadn’t been fear of the distance to the beach, but the fact that he’d been caught.
    She couldn’t quite place the man’s accent, but it wasn’t Scottish. American, perhaps. What did she care where he came from? The problem was what he was doing here.
    â€œI’m not a governess,” she said. “I’m Macrath’s sister, Ceana.”
    He bent and retrieved his shirt from a pile of clothes beside the door, taking his time with it. Shouldn’t he have begun with his trousers instead?
    â€œWho are you?” she asked, looking away as he began to don the rest of his clothing.
    She’d had two children. She was well versed in matters of nature. She knew quite well what a man’s body looked like. The fact that his struck her as singularly attractive was no doubt due to the fact she’d been a widow for three years.
    â€œWell, Ceana Sinclair, is it all that important you know who I am?”
    â€œIt isn’t Sinclair,” she said. “It’s Mead.”
    He tilted his head and studied her.
    â€œIs Mr. Mead visiting along with you?”
    She stared down at her dress of unremitting black. “I’m a widow,” she said.
    A shadow flitted over his face “Are you? Did Macrath know you were